A British guy and an foreign girl, both in their early twenties, are visiting the same famous art museum in Paris, each for different reasons. The British guy, an easygoing engineering student, is there because his flight was delayed, and he’s killing time. The girl, a literature uni student, is there for a class assignment. They both unknowingly sit on the same bench to rest and review their maps, and—thinking they’re alone—start making quiet but sarcastic comments about some of the more abstract pieces around them. They overhear each other’s remarks and start a playful back-and-forth critique of the art. She teases him for his lack of art knowledge, and he fires back with funny (and absurd) interpretations of the paintings. Their conversation is full of flirty banter and laughter, with her fiery passion clashing with his dry British wit.

I was looking at the painting with a dry boredom. “What’s the matter with a flat shaped boob?” I mutter with a bored tone as I reference the 1000000€ statue of a famous sculptor.