this being the second day, with mixed weather, the Reporter who had to canvas 3 arrondissements, started to think about transportations.
Parisians in the know, think cycles.
So it can be of course the Velib that you find in the street, and just punch in your credit card, and off you go,
but it looks better if you have pink hair :
But most people now, and we are not talking about messengers, here, we are talking about entrepreneurs, small bankers, big CEOs, medium photographers, large city hall employees, visiting doctors, use the three wheels motorcycle. It looks like a gigantic toy tricycle, and it is one too.
Doesn't it look great ? Like is it not every grown-up man dream ?
It looks like below, parked illegally of course on the sidewalk,
And then it has that huge windshield with that huge space behind it,
see how it can be used as a trash place for used tissues ?
Then of course, you have the die-hard traditionalist, so distinguished, who will drive only his forty year old vespa :
So the Reporter, amidst this large choice, decided for a taxi.
Off she went to meet her brother at their favorite fish haunt :
Then checked on her favorite flower shop,
Then she had to stop by the Bon Marche, where it was the twice a year seasonal three day sale,
that most unfortunately fell on her Parisian stay :
and she was not the only one to check those,
Then she was waiting to cross the street, when she saw The Distinguished Mature Parisian In Sportive Mood :
and then mightily exhausted, she walked another half hour away to go have dinner at the Esplanade des Invalides, and on her way, the Tower twinkled in her old friendly way,
And off she was to fall into Morpheus' arms, not the one in the Matrix.
The Reporter knows only the Greek one, the God of Dreams, with whom she is on first name basis.