Monday, November 30, 2009
4 Flights Up...
... to a dark blue varnished door. Three locks, two turn clockwise, one counter-clockwise. A tough go if you're winded, exhausted, and a tad inebriated from the down-the-corner cafe's late night carafe of wine. The city click-clacks on to the tune of high-heeled girls stomping with force on the cobble-stoned streets leading up the slight incline to the rows of old apartments. No one seems to sleep at the same time; someone is always up and about, needing to discuss their latest plight, an overblown amd imagined slight to their egos. Thin is all around; eternal movement shakes off any fat pleading to cling to their bodies. The Metro hums and drums underneath the street, kicking up speed at 5:30 in the a.m. and winding its way out and through and back in to the city until it stops to rest at 12:30 in the a.m., smoking its carefully trimmed Gauloises as the mechanics check for leaks and squeaks.Labels: Late Evenings, Paris
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<< Home Verging on Pertinence Just some more disposable thoughts clogging up the hinterlands
"Gauloises" -- only in Europe do I ever get taken over by the urge to re-attempt that filthy habit. Smoker's fug remains a pleasant fixture, and I have to wonder if these folks don't have a healthier sense of good health than we do.
Any chance you indulged while out-of-state?
Any chance you indulged while out-of-state?
Had to, Sir. Had to.
...although, a funny thing happened. I went into a tobacconist's store to procure the foul-but-necessary plant. Stumbling along with my just-landed-in-Paris-after-a-waaaaay-too-long flight(Thank You United Airlines! May Southwest be granted overseas flight priveleges so that they can eat your lunch!)-Franglais, the tobacconist sized me up and sold me a package of Gauloises smokes. "Gauloises Blonde", to be exact.
....it took a while for my daughter to stop laughing in her now adapted French style; I thought I would have to call the ambulance médicalisée to assist in desisting her out-of-control chortling.
My nickname for the balnce of my stay was Madame Gauloises.
Merci Buckets, Monsieur Tobacconist!
Although you are now not allowed to smoke in most cafes (even outdoor seated ones), there are areas on the cusp that attract cackles of fumeurs obscured by tobacco clouds
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...although, a funny thing happened. I went into a tobacconist's store to procure the foul-but-necessary plant. Stumbling along with my just-landed-in-Paris-after-a-waaaaay-too-long flight(Thank You United Airlines! May Southwest be granted overseas flight priveleges so that they can eat your lunch!)-Franglais, the tobacconist sized me up and sold me a package of Gauloises smokes. "Gauloises Blonde", to be exact.
....it took a while for my daughter to stop laughing in her now adapted French style; I thought I would have to call the ambulance médicalisée to assist in desisting her out-of-control chortling.
My nickname for the balnce of my stay was Madame Gauloises.
Merci Buckets, Monsieur Tobacconist!
Although you are now not allowed to smoke in most cafes (even outdoor seated ones), there are areas on the cusp that attract cackles of fumeurs obscured by tobacco clouds
<< Home Verging on Pertinence Just some more disposable thoughts clogging up the hinterlands
