Paris, France
1996

Walking around Paris in the Summer can get tiring pretty quickly, especially up and down hills on cobblestone streets. It was late afternoon, the sun was low, and we were getting ready to call it a day and go back to the apartment to rest before hitting the clubs.

We walked by an eccentric-looking young man sitting on a concrete parking block on the sidewalk, writing down things in a small notebook. My friend casually asked him what he was writing. He looked up, smiled and said he was working on a poem. We both half-chuckled at the idea and continued walking downhill. Half at down the street, I noticed the sunlight creating dramatic shadows as it reflected on the shiny stone surfaces of the cobbles, and turned back towards the sun to capture them.

And there was the poet.