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About Nantes

Sometimes, she’d nick me fags, cheeky mare. “You’re my sunshine,” I’d tease, all soppy. She’d scoff, “Piss off, you old git!” Proper banter, that. But once, right, saw her cryin’—bloke roughed her up. Broke me heart, it did. “I’d erase him,” I said, “like Jim Carrey did.” She hugged me, snot and all—messy, human, real.

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Finally, I wrap up my day with a stroll through the streets of Saint-Maur. I pass by the Église Saint-Hilaire, and it’s just stunning. I stop to take a pic, and this old lady comes up to me and starts chatting. She’s telling me about how she’s lived here her whole life. I’m like, “Wow, that’s amazing!” But then she starts going off about how the city’s changed. “Back in my day…” you know the drill. I’m nodding along, but inside I’m thinking, “Lady, I just wanted a nice photo!”

Disquaire Day 2025: the day of independent record shops returns to Paris in spring