How artists roll.

The first of a poem a day for a week, capturing life in the heat on the Cote d’Azur.


The number 8 bus up the hill to Vallauris.

Air conditioned luxury.

The driver belts around the zigzag road throwing the group of carefully posed teens into each others space, ungainly.

This is not cool.

They casually hold tighter to the rails whilst continuing to text – only the odd glance from underneath lashes betraying how un-Instagram they feel right now.

Red nude on sail

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