I went on a good, long walk today with adventurous friends and saw parts of my neighborhood I’ve never seen in the 8.5 years I’ve lived here. I’ll tell you about it soon. In the meantime, there’s… this. I’m glad people with strange thoughts also sometimes have the foresight to bring a Sharpie or paint pen or whatever with them wherever they go.

In Paris, I went to Le Refuge Des Fondue (why aren’t you there now? why am I not there now? what are we doing with our lives?). About five or six items down the list of things I’d tell you about this place is that it’s covered – COVERED – in graffiti. We finished dinner and were winding our way out of the place, and we decided we wanted to add to it. I dug in my bag, which is generally better stocked with art supplies than most people’s would be, and produced: the Sharpie. And we wrote and left our marks and went happily into the night, not knowing we would soon be trapped in a humid room for upwards of two hours by French singers.

“Why did you have that?” one of our number asked me, confused but a bit impressed. I thought about it and said, “Well, why wouldn’t I?” Sharpies are a sign of good, thorough preparation. Always have a Sharpie. Ideally a good thick one in fighting shape. You never know.

All that is to say: I went on a walk today and had a fiercely good time. More to come.