Trafika Europe 12 - French Bon-Bons

Who You Think I Am

who were in photography or fashion, people like him, cool, swanky, hip or losers, pleased with themselves and friends of the human race, in love with life, as they say. He accepted me right away. He was even the one to initiate a conversation because I “liked” one of his photos. It must have been at the start of the year, January time; we’d broken up around Christmas, Joe and I had— the holiday season’s a vulnerable time, you feel more lonely when you’re alone, Joe would never miss an opportunity like that, he must have dumped me just before New Year ’s Eve. So Chris’s message made me happy, it was stupid because it didn’t really say anything, “Glad you like my photos, thanks, happy new year. I’m Christophe, Chris to my friends,” he wasn’t coming on to me either, just being polite basically. But the connection was there. I replied saying I thought his photos were fantastic, that I’d gone to his exhibition the year before on the rue Lepic (I’d seen the flyer on his wall — a few large prints on sale in a bar-gallery place). He asked me whether we’d met at the time, I said no, he wasn’t there when I went. Meanwhile I trawled his wall for information about Joe — a picture of him dressed as a garden gnome, a jokey status about “tending his carrot tops on the balcony,” stuff like that. I didn’t have any direct contact with him at all. The conversation with Chris developed very naturally. He asked me what I did, whether I lived in the heart

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