I’m really fortunate to have two friends, Mort and Jeanette, who live on a boat in the Seine.
When Paris gets crazy, as it does in September when everyone returns from their vacations, it’s a lovely respite to have a glass or wine on the deck and watch the world leisurely float by.
(Along with a few other things bobbing around in the mix of the river…)
But it’s a great escape from a bit of the madness of la rentrée, when everyone’s come back to Paris and although they’re initially in a good mood, as their tans fade, they slip back into the big-city mode.
And soon, I’m back to cursing the motor-scooters who cut me off—on the sidewalk, I’m making appointments with the kinotherapist to re-align my back after losing too many games of “chicken” with Parisians on the sidewalk, and I need to keep myself from throttling those people who sit in front of me at the movies and spent their time texting their friends on their flashing, illuminated cell phones.
And, worst of all, I’m coming to the realization that the stinky guy has returned, and is probably never, ever going to move.
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