Moulin rouge

I first came to Paris one year ago. It was 1899, the summer of love. I knew nothing of the Moulin Rouge, Harold Zidler or Satine. The world had been swept up in the Bohemian Revolution and I had travelled from London to be a part of it. On a hill near Paris, was the village of Montmatre. It was not what my father had said but the center of the Bohemian world. Musicians, painters, writers. They were known as the children of the revolution. Yes, I had come to live a penniless existence. I had come to write about truth, beauty, freedom and at which I believed above all things, love. But there was only one problem, I've never been in love!