Pigalle, la nuit

by Phantazein Studio

The first night.

I take in a hit of that wonderfully foreign air- it smells of some distant place I don’t quite recognize. That faint, elusive tinge that displaces me from reality for a brief second.

My thin coat wrapped tightly around me, I sink into the comforting anonymity and shed my memories one by one onto the filthy pavement. I welcome all of it- the tawdry scenery, women brazenly displaying themselves in neon lit doorways, the lecherous stares of passersby whispering half comprehensible obscenities. They paint over my consciousness, forming a bleak and murky vision.

I haven’t felt this sense of relief in so long.