my mum woke up earlier than me, she took a bath with a window opened and little birds hidden in ivy tuned up her mood. we had cold cooked breakfast in alain ducasse and we left for the city. walked to champs elysee. took the metro to chatlet and made our way to pompidou. i saw these weird silhouettes, basketball players attached to a church doors, throwing invisible balls of invisible thoughts high to the basket of exsistence. we were passing by many cafes and shops decorated iwth proudly presented broken nosed manequins, in pompidou we saw armand, i liked the scenes of burned blackened life that still holds on , and marching teapots so shamelessly ripped of their reasons. we came back to the hotel, changed and went to meet anelise, mum's friend who works as a designer for cavalli. she took us for a coffe to the petit palace, i was following them slowly, staring at floors, windows and walls, i listened to them as well, it was very enjoyable to see how good people find ways to be there for each other fully even for a short while once every twenty years or so. anelise left and we went out for a dinner, snails and langoustines. we went for a walk around. in one of the passages smelling like inscents we saw a flatened temple under a broken umbrella, no defence against falling.