Let's set the scene. It's Friday night. 11pm. It's raining outside and we're in Paris. We're in a dark corner of a dingy jazz bar. Someone's wearing stripes. We close in on one girl, eyes fixed on the main stage, foot tapping and head swaying. She's been jazzed and she isn't afraid to show it. The girl is me. For 10 months last year, I lived in Paris and for every second of it, I felt like a pretentious elitist. Even saying the words I live in Paris filled me with self-loathing. Since returning ...
Let's set the scene. It's Friday night. 11pm. It's raining outside and we're in Paris. We're in a dark corner of a dingy jazz bar. Someone's wearing stripes. We close in on one girl, eyes fixed on the main stage, foot tapping and head swaying. She's been jazzed and she isn't afraid to show it. The girl is me. For 10 months last year, I lived in Paris and for every second of it, I felt like a pretentious elitist. Even saying the words I live in Paris filled me with self-loathing. Since returning ...
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