Great cities are always impure,always impossible and their enemies are property developers as much as small minded terrorists Cocooning, drawing loved ones close, and was the first reaction to murder and terrorism. Staying in and getting a takeaway and texting everyone as we huddled over the horror. Did you do that? I did,until somehow life asserted itself again in its defiance. It was like finding a pulse again. “We must all go to Paris,” I found myself thinking. It really is as splendid as we want it to be. These people are as cool as they deem they are and, and of course,it wasn’t just me thinking this; a hashtag emerged – #JeSuisEnTerrace. And my heart leapt. #JeSuisEnTerrace. Smoking. They didn’t say smoking. They don’t need to.
Being outside eating, drinking, or talking not of units and chia seeds but of life itself is where I want to be. In a city that stays out late and is full of alleyways and dark snugs,and people who expose you approximately what really matters. This is the fantasy of the city and whether you advance from a small town, as I did, and you never lose it or want to.
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Source: theguardian.com