Maybe six feet ain't so far down.
And then we completely massacred the landmarks, politicians, history and all. What was supposed to be l'Arc de Triomphe was the victim of other unpublishable assumptions, the President was reduced to a fictional somebody in our textbooks, the Mona Lisa was painted by Michelangelo as of yesterday, Celine Dion had about three different nationalities and because she frequents Las Vegas, therefore it was...est. :) Where have all the rockets in our pockets gone? But I lost the bet anyway. Marie was getting all totalitarian with the microphone I had the heebie jeebies. When I did walk out eventually, it was like reaching the last bridge before the final solo to Fix You, the part where he's running through the tunnels and onto the stage and the lights and everything just exploded. Masssive! And speaking of tunnels, I very much want to be away. Everything is just indifferent here, hopelessly single dimensional. Today I woke up, and had absolutely nothing on my mind. Perfect. Vraiment, viva les livres et bouteilles vides de vin, et lumieres d'arc-en-ciel de vacances.