So this is a tuesday, when the french start to think that perhaps one should work a little bit.
So, in fact this reporter started to do a series of things which were a little bit more frivolous than walking the streets, and visiting museums with naked bodies.
So she courageously went on into her favorite investigation of decrepit porches and doors,
Then she decided to have an architectural peek at where she had one of these underprivileged childhood,
in shanty dwellings
Then, to breathe a little easier, she decided to visit one of these really ugly and decrepit streets,
once inside one of the buildings of that street, she checked how her socks looked on that curious floor,
it sort of looked ok.
Then, she checked on the window of yet another baby store,
still for 7th's fertile people,
and then she had this luminous thought about parisian 7th 's people.
Most probably, their babies never, NEVER, got old, which explains the proliferation of baby shops as you have to keep
clothing more and more babies. Since they never age.
And the reporter started to ponder about the catastrophy of all those diapers recycling that are mounting, and probably
will slowly start to cover up all those exquisite streets of the 7th arrondissement. So that little by little,
we shall see less and less of these exquisite " hotels particuliers." That is " townhouses" for us, ruffians.
So, armed with that rather aggravating thought, our reporter decided to walk on, and have a peaceful cup of coffee,
served by one of those charmingly distressed parisian waiters, whom you are so scarred to bother.
And as a matter of fact, what was written just above is totally unfair and untrue,
as the reporter's waiter was pretty adorable and funny.
Of course, the reporter thought after, he was NOT aware of the mounting pile of diapers invading the 7th arrondissement,
So, our reporter went home to attend to other things,
skipping on the disjointed cobbles of the 7th with an impish smile.
with love, from the fertile city,
the frog
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