I was going through some of my Paris archives and this shot in particular took me back in an instant: the feeling of disgust as I picked out pieces of ham from my crepe while faintly hearing the sounds of children in a schoolyard playing. I remember the irrational fear that the pigeons swarmed en masse around me, fighting for the pieces of meat at my feet, were about to gauge my eyes out. I can still feel the greasy fat slime on my fingers, on the brink of tears because I was so overwhelmed with shame that my French sucked so bad that the cook thought my champignon was jambon, but distracted enough to be delighted by the sounds of kids yelling at each other in such a beautiful language. Thankfully, I eventually decided it was fucking ridiculous to be sitting in a lovely park near Rue Mouffetard feeling sorry for myself.

For those of you who aren’t a total hippie, you might find yourself pitching a tent over the meaty crepe. I’m sure it would’ve been amazing, as it still blew my mind despite the destruction I dealt it.