Stollys: Almost famous

Spring air. The sun is still out and it’s nearly 8. I’m a little drunk but hopefully not too much to ride into Friday Night Paris. Famous last words? I’m not even famous. 

I have plenty of work on at the moment. Almost too much, but not quite. Not quite enough for me to say no to any of it. Will that day ever come? Maybe when I’m famous? 

Look at all these people walking by. Who even are they? The tourists, the Marais posers, the alcoholics pretending to be writers (ahem). Two girls ask if they can sit at my table. One has an animal print coat, the other has a vape pen that looks like Darth Vader. I tell them to go ahead, it might look like I have friends. Might look like I’m a little bit famous. 

The store opposite Stollys is called ‘Tiger Sugar’ now. Probably bubble tea. Or maybe some kind of witch doctor skin cream boutique. ‘Face wash with extract of leopard pineal gland’. They would love that shit out here, in the Marais. I’m working on Brad Pitt’s new skin care brand at the moment. Really. Now HE’S famous. 

The sun has gone down and the mopeds have come out. Young guys delivering takeaway. Chinese food and coca cola, or maybe just plain coke. No MSG in that. No leopard pineal gland either. One of them goes up into the flats in front of the Stollys terrace. Pete Doherty used to live up there. I met him in the street once, by Saint Lazare. It was 4am and he had shopping bags from Carrefour. Is he still famous? 

It’s getting a bit cold out here now, and I didn’t bring a jacket. I should get home, before I get too drunk, too drunk to ride a bike and too drunk to write this down. Maybe just one more drink. A last one. The last one. And there they are. 

My famous last words.