Tuesday, February 19, 2013

Fuck I love this Fucking city

I have been thinking lately of all the things that annoy the crap of out me in Paris, like how at the supermarché they don't bloody put your stuff in bags. I mean, the bags are right there, it takes no more effort for the lady to put them there instead of there. Mais no, they have to stick them there, so you have to fumble around and find hands to shove all the stuff in on top of each other badly into the bags while you also rummage around for your card, etcetera, people huffing and puffing behind you because you're an organisational idiot. I wanted to say the r word there but i thought i shouldn't, though isn't the i word offensive too? Anyway, that is one thing about Paris that annoys me that i've been stewing over for far too long - oh - and also they won't even take the stuff out of the basket if you plonk that on the travelator thing prior to the bonjour - if you get one - often you don't. They say 'Take the things out and put them on the travelator thing.' Why the fuck is that? What difference does it make if you're taking the stuff of the travelator or out of the basket? Fuuuuck!

So I've been a bit preoccupied with annoyances such as this but then I just heard a walking brass band pass through the neighbourhood, rich, joyful, serene. It floated through the window of the office when I'm sitting right now. 

And I thought man I fucking love this fucking city. 

1 comment:

  1. And then I discovered yesterday that it is two men with trumpets who on wednesdays walk together down either side of the street, in procession, the same route each time, with a tiny amp blaring out music, which they accompany on their brass instruments. Their clothes are tatty and they seem to be homeless. They are collecting money as they go. The music seems to fill the whole quartier.

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