Comme-va? I think your card is fitting your postcard has a photographed scene from 'La Chausse', The Hunt, a French loved pastime and institution. We all run after someone on the chase at sometime and hold on to them captive in our embrace but as all things it ends.
I look out over the rooftops of Montmartre from the 6th floor apartment the chimneys in terracotta the arrow shaped antennas and tin and copper roofs, balconies with flowers overhanging with geraniums spilling. The smell of fresh bread from the boulangerie that bakes every half hour on the corner and the hinted scents of Cigarillos wafting up here, high up in rarefied air of the apartment. The muted mutter of cars turning the block ten times to find a park. Men whistling as they go on their merry way, a claxon, a moto rumbles, the ring of a bicycle bell. In here it is just the sound of me tapping of the keys on the typewriter and the buzz of the jazz radio. I have no country no homeland just my thoughts my typewriter and the need for a quiet place to tap the keys.
I found my man alone in Paris with all of Europe’s problems and challenges weighing him down. My heart grows heavy, the hour sounds and the bells from the Sacré Cœur chime. We were together when the siren on the 1st Wednesday of the month rang out all over Paris, France and Europe a reminder of WWII this place weighed down heavy by the past. I feel high up in this apartment like I can see the clouds in profile. I guess I should be without a care while I am here.
Driss is preparing Moules Marinier with a Muscatel wine and les huites (oysters) that are unopened, fat with the oily jewels hidden within and a big wheel of brie for dessert. If we were not tied to anything lassoed down by our obligations and responsibilities where would we all be? What would we all really do and make with our lives? However now we face problems like La Crise in the age of austerity.
... Fayroze ...
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