In the paper yesterday there was an article about a Los Angeles writer, Dennis Cooper (whose blog is seriously weird and interesting), who has settled in Paris because his Russian boyfriend cannot get a U.S. visa.
The article begins with Cooper saying, "wistfully," "I can imagine what Paris was like when it was hot. It's not hot anymore."
This strikes me every day I spend in Los Angeles, which now bills itself as "the creative capital of the world." It feels like that. It's hot.
And Paris, much as I love it, and even need it, feels more and more like... Vienna. The capital of a dead empire.