And I’m not just talking about the cemetery ones, though they do occur. I’m talking about them going to small local cinemas to see foreign horror movies no one has heard of. They leant against each other in the dark room and laugh at the fake blood and overacting, and talk about their favourite bits on the way home.
They stroll in public parks at night, when it’s empty and dark, as the moon transforms the grass into a silver sea. They sit on the horses of the sleeping carousel and talk, kiss, or just listen to the heart of Paris beating nearby, unseen yet right there, withing reach.
Montparnasse finds abandoned buildings and brings Jehan there. They light candles and relish the eerie atmosphere. They imagine the lives of those who stood where they’re standing. They light a joint, sometimes, and Jehan recites poetry in a slow, melodious voice, while Montparnasse listens, his head on their lap.