Letter № 217 · Paris · May 17, 2026
A studio of one’s own, finally.
On moving into the 11th, the rug I waited eleven months for, and what it means to live in two cities without losing yourself in either.
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Dispatch
Forty-eight hours in Roma, alone
A Friday flight, a Saturday spent at Bar San Calisto, a Sunday at the Forum at golden hour.
Place
Bar Pisellino
The West Village corner that taught me how to be European about espresso.
Letter
The secret life of saunas
Helsinki rewrites what a sauna is for. A short essay on warmth and silence.
Right now
Paris, in May.
The studio is half-finished and I keep buying books I don’t have shelf space for. Here’s where I’m eating, drinking, and disappearing this month.
See the Paris atlas“This is not a guide. It’s a record of what I’ve loved.”