So the Reporter decided to leave the Left Bank and transfer to the Right. She had her passport and all was fine.
As a matter of fact, she subwayed to Amelie Poulain's territory, Montmartre. But not so much in search of the lovely ingenue but to get some fabric from the venerable Marche St Pierre where you find all sorts of rolls of fabric discarded by any fabric companies.
It's a very random place where you find all sorts of chic Parisians who could afford expensive yards of fabric but pride themselves on getting there a bargain. The Reporter was looking for a Pique de Coton, color : navy. It's practically impossible to find today Pique de Coton, and navy being a most unusual color to find in that range of fabric, of course the Reporter was all the more piqued to find it. So she arrived at the foot of Montmartre, and there were some Japanese tourists, as it should be,
then the Reporter spotted her dear store,
Once inside she ascended the stairs and dutifully observed she would have to pay at each floor, for her finds before moving to another one,
And there, looking for her Pique de Coton, she could spot madras fabric,
some discreet damas,
some sunset colored silk,
some unusual embossed fabric,
little purple things, not un-reminiscent of the anthrax virus through the microscope,
a pretty charming toile de jouy,
and no Pique de Coton.
Useless to describe the horrible feeling of let down from the Reporter who had so courageously crossed over from her Left Bank. So she started to stroll over the foot of Montmartre with her poor little broken heart.
And there she met successively some little stores which soothed the broken pieces.
First a book store for her kind, called " L'Etourdi ", or in plain english, " The Scatterbrain ",
then a little store named, " Sur La Terre Comme Au Ciel ", which means " On Earth As In Heaven", and it was a place where wedding dresses are made, though how many weddings are made in heaven, we don't know, but we can hope,
Then she stumbled on the tiniest restaurant, named... " MIlk " ! and under the title was painted : " Mum in her little kitchen "
do click on the second pic, as you will see how the K of Milk ends,
As you can see, she was pretty taken by Milk, though she has no taste for the potion.
And then she stumbled last on her favorite of favorite of favorite little theaters, l' Atelier,
That's when she realized that her broken little heart was in one large piece again, and she breathed.
With all unbroken wishes,