Yes, I have. Multiple times — I do own such an apartment in the Champs Elysées, a quaint luxurious thing, with the best view to the cliché Paris Tower. Knowing myself, I ought to rent someplace in Montmartre, where all the desolate artists and hedonists go to drink, fornicate and die (by ''die'', I mean: paint, write, all sorts of pretentious activities, to nurture a dying body, when the wine and sex cannot aid to life no more — which, to me, is the saddest thing in humanity; has one ever seen a God who does not invigorate their soul and body after wine, sex?).