My 4 days in Paris constitute the most quintessential tourist vacating I have ever done. After more than a decade of coercion, persuasion and downright threatening, I convince my family to join me somewhere not on a resort. My nephew, having spent the summer semester in Valencia Spain, joins my moms and my sis and me in the French capital and we do it big. An apartment steps from the Eiffel Tower sets the stage for a lot of walking — personally I ambulate no less than 10 miles per day each day I’m here. We do all the typical sightseeing shit. It’s clear our family DNA has predisposed us to enjoying the simplest of activities. We walk. We eat. We drink. We take photos. I thought I was the simple one, yet these motherfuckers are cool with the same basics. We don’t even make plans, though eventually it rains one day and we buy tickets to the Louvre. I don’t like museums much, they’re usually just buildings full of stolen artifacts and art. Remnants of colonial times when Western Europe plundered the rest of the world for its culture. Now the US & A plunders the entire world with its culture. Go figure. You know what they call a Quarter Pounder in France? If Vincent never tells Jules, then I’d never know — and I still don’t care. But it’s telling that this motherfucker would go all the way to Paris, a — if not the — gastronomical capital of the world and eat at a fucking McDonalds. Plundered.

The Louvre is pretty amaze balls though. I get lost on the same floor for a good hour before figuring out how to maneuver the massive complex. I mock the Mona Lisa chasers and instead admire the wondrous painting on the opposite wall of that room. I see high school kids take naps everywhere, that’s fun. I like naps. I like art. I’d be ok if humanity all agreed on just one single place to display looted artifacts as a testimonial to human life existing on earth. This place clearly would be that. Obviously. Obvi. Ob.

All the Paris shit. We hit Arcs. We cruise the Seine. We visit the burnt-out Notre Dame. We walk boulevards. I show my ass at the Wall of Love. I celebrate the usage of the guillotine on the ruling class. We eat French cuisine and a mouse comes out to greet us. For really real. That happens. Merci.