We’re away until January 6, but we’re reposting some of our favorite pieces from 2019. Enjoy your holiday!

Tove Jansson

I’m sitting comfortably parked on a bench in a little park behind Saint-Sulpice and I’m supposed to find something to write about. It’s very quiet here. Pigeons copulate on a patch of grass, some tourists catch their breath on the benches across from me, an organ plays behind my back, far away.

A clochard comes every now and then and bothers the tourists—he explains, at length, that he also understands Italian. I just keep quiet, and eventually he goes away.

I can’t comprehend why this has to be so hard; one should be able to write just about anything at any time, in a purely professional way.

(I wonder how it is for other people.)

For the time being I have only written the date on the first page of my notepad but that was yesterday.

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