Paris in the fall. The last months of the year, and the end of the millenium...

The city holds many memories for me - of cafes, of music, of love… and of death.

My turn:

"I have ruled out the possibility of an artificially intelligent virus..."

"unless it's very intelligent and toying with me"

My turn:

"We are not content with negative obedience, nor even with the most abject submission..."

'When finally you surrender to us, it must be of your own free will.'

My turn:

'We had two bags of grass, seventy-five pellets of mescaline, five sheets of high-powered blotter acid, a salt shaker half full of cocaine....'