Montmartre et le Chat Noir

Montmartre doesn't belong to the metropolis, Montmartre stays on its hill and overlooks the city from above with that slight sense of superiority that, more or less, all the artists have.
Montmartre isolates itself because it already is out of time, as anyway art has to be, and it dresses up with streetlamps, cobble-stoned alleys and pastel colors houses.
Montmartre is a bohémien artist, he hangs around with an old coat and contemplates with melancholy the skyline with a cigarette sliding from his lips.
Montmartre makes your soul dance with the sound of an accordion, paints a scene on your heart, makes you feel a bit like a Poète Maudit, seeking for something you will never find, and a bit like Amelie Poulain, trying to grab with your wide eyes and your shy smile all the beauty surrounding you.