In March 1998 I went to Paris for 3 months.

I lived in the middle of the business district, which is outside Paris.

Every morning I passed skyscrapers and took skyways over freeways to get to the metro, which I rode with suited serious men and women.

Every morning and every evening I saw this sculpture reaching for the blue sky amid smog and glass and metal.
We hung out with a bunch of 3rd graders one day. I forget what this game involved. Katherine was having a blast
On Sundays, the Flower Market in the center of Paris has a Pet Market as well. On one of these Sundays, a girl was looking at turtles.

 
This picture has a good story. Most people don't know that really I'm a spy. This was my hangout for 3 months. With Victor, my partner, I ate tunafish from the can and drank stolen tequila from the Mexican bar around the street. In France, no one suspects the Communists of any illicit activities. It was the perfect cover. For the first three weeks, it rained. I felt like this.
Rodin's Portal to Hell transfixed me for hours.


 At the goodbye party, our Art History professor Elizabeth sang drinking songs with Christian, the accordian player.

In Rimini, my friends Dave, Dave, Alex, and Barney. Barney's name is also Dave. Alex's name is really Alex. He is buds with the Italian Prime Minister. The guys are enjoying their Paganello "Most Injured Team" Beach Chairs after drinking much beer and watching Mir San Mir and Wall City in the final. What a great weekend.