There’s a person in a gorilla suit running about the base of the Eiffel, a hairy black blur between the metal of the tower and the colours of summer. The gorilla poses with kids for a few Euros parents are willing to shell for a novelty photo. The rest of the time it offers to pose for a few Euros or chats with the armed cops and vendors, always running and hopping, waving its hairy arms, wearing a phantom smile. It must be hard having that job during a heat wave.
Paris, July 2010
I’ve taken to writing (myself) postcards when travelling. I’ve this image in my head, of me, thirty-forty years down the line, going through stacks of yellowing postcards, and thinking about the good old days, a cup of hot chai in hand.