The Paris Air

I am here. Where the greatest minds have placed pen to paper, thoughts to action, love to bodies, and cared to hate it at the same time. I've read Tropics Of Cancer and he describes Paris in its ugliness and beauty as raw as he would New York City. What he sees in both cities, I care to find out. I care to find out why Henry Miller came here penniless. And stayed. Why Picasso chose to die in France? Or how Paris decided to give birth to Claude Monet? I need to find out. If I can't find out, let me at least breathe the same air as them. Let me breathe in the brilliance. Maybe I can walk away with a fraction of it. Or maybe if I eat enough croissants and drink enough espressos, I can see what they see.

Visuals by Pedro Morales
Sweater - Zara
Denim Button Up - Madewell