Paris is a peculiar city. You can never be entirely certain about what you're actually there for, but at all times, you are pretty confident that surely, Paris must be good for something, and therefore, you're there because you're doing something worthwile. But at the end of every day, without having accomplished much worth mentioning, you have a brief thought where you discover you really haven't done anything. After this thought you glance out your window and decide that it might actually be for the best. And so you lay down and close your eyes, and in your last moment of consciousness you decide you wouldn't want to waste your time anywhere else in the world.