Paris at dawn. A bed of zinc and small unchanging chimneys.
In a moment, the city’s eleven million souls will slip out of their bed, get dressed, kiss each other, still misty, to go out, run, tracing as many trajectories as they carry possibilities.
To go where? In search of what? What drives them?
Sixty years after Chris Marker and Pierre Lhomme’s Joli Mai, let’s ask once again what Paris is like on a May day…