It's a weird state I seem to be in at the moment.
Homeless a little, already in Paris, but my mind haven't arrived yet. It's like waking up every five minutes thinking:
Music squires me everywhere.
Old sweet music with sizzling niose in the background, that makes you feel like wandering through vintage postcards.
Expecting Dandies with mustaches and glamourus couture waiting round the next corner, offering you a cigarette or asking for a dance.
But I haven't met Truffaut, Picasso or Simone de Beauvoir yet or even found the stairs from
"Midnight in Paris"
and so all I have is
Cole Porter or Joséphine Baker singing for me from time to time to beautify my daydreams.
photography by me (thanks to sonja alefs and birte becher)