If I wasn't already a struggling writer, I'd certainly become one after seeing Midnight in Paris. Artistic suffering never looked so good.Oh, for an attic studio somewhere just off the Champs-Élysées, convivial geniuses gathered in shabby-chic cafés, salons brimming with brilliant tête-à-têtes, and everywhere bons vivants spouting bon mots as sparkling as genuine French champagne.
Oh, and Gertrude Stein perusing my manuscripts in a motherly fashion would be nice too.
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