Do you remember the time we met in Paris, ma cherie?
We ate snot from snail shells, drank aged wine and rubbed necks undeur le Eiffel Toweur.
Maybe it's a widening gap between rich and poor, or perhaps le expectation that, regarding le art, France is 'where it's at'.
Whateveur. All I know is that our date was 'Schwarzeneggered' when we stood outside Cartier for some romanteec picteurs.
We saw zis feuking homeless guy wheatpasted on le shopfront. It made moi feel so bourgeois. I was disgusted.
This piece is by artist Michael Aaron Williams.
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