return to Paris that everyone complains delights me.
late August, which some people devote to squander in crossovers of stretch marks on the beaches bottled gives me a clear horizon on the asphalt, a moderate temperature and fauna handpicked.
It is increasingly difficult to appreciate the damn city so it is invaded by infidels, so I will not spit on the few weeks of respite and she pays I offer myself. I was talking out loud before, against the closure of tobacco and the invasion of the Yanks, but I've since learned to keep my pace of life in full estivalier Belleville. It is almost enough to think "vacation" feel to it as such, do not find my tobacconist at the bottom of my home open and not have to push the 150 meters is an act, if any, which differs nothing in the habits of the Parisian sunbathers adopt so easily, and with so great a beatific smile. Consider Sunday as a day dead, dedicated to lord and god Alka Seltzer is tolerable here as well. Since I bought my fish out there on Saturday, in preparation super item closed without Hyper U, why not anticipate my box of nuggets 48 hours in advance here too.? As American citizens, I now know that thanks to them, and their dollars spent anyhow, my city's museums have clean walls. So good.
Quit rail against this city is also decided.
It no longer amuses me, this horde always ready to run my city.
I like it because it deserves to be loved.
I will not let anyone say otherwise.
And summer is not my cam too, must say.
is not to my snobbish, but still.
It was never likely to m'émoustiller, the prospect of having to rub the fat shirtless double the radius of Pastis Carrefour. It makes me not bend more, the obligation of having to share my patch of sand with the 3 new kids that are fun for single than sending sand on my book and in my eyes. I rarely found tantalizing view maps of restaurants increased by 3 € for 2 months their food brought in bad English.
You tell me, if I had my house to me, a little inland, isolated in some ways, with a pool and a small garden, all that, it would be a different story. I want the summer, therefore.
Nay.
one, if I had my house for me in the land a little isolated in some ways, with a pool and a small garden, I almost all seasons, and life in general and people, above the market.
Two, then certainly I would spend most of my time, not to be confused with "the hottest of my time," and I will keep the privilege of V (lines) I (Sole) P (eople) of months of August in Paris. Paris would be my second home. Absolutely.
But I do not have my house for me. Whiners and returning to the fold.
They return with tshirts I ♥ NY , Singapore, Calvi, Maubeuge.
My god.
They say that Paris is dirty, that Paris is expensive, that Paris is a snob. They say that to many, they fall all in agreement for once, they defile a bar in Paris dirty, expensive and snobbish. A bar where they go every day. Do they know that nothing just nothing is happening down here if we should build on the denigration passive? Do they imagine for a second that they dream worlds are filled with people who in the morning, do not take their coffee to support their day but to make it unique? Would they like more than what the world likes to say, rightly, on hygiene, racism, pretentiousness and sense of superiority of Paris ... the world will add that, moreover, the investigation is unable to defend himself and get away because they are supporters of anything ...? The would they?
Like irony, arrogance and alcoholism among Parisians love their beautiful forelock, and immeasurable unconsciousness. Therefore, in my opinion, those of them who complain of Paris from August to October are only small lost pilgrims who must find their mecca and there knees or to heal a thousand Compeed blisters that lead them to their holy jack daniel.
some time ago that I had inquired about the price the cost of making a t-shirt on which was written "And bin go there, dines. I thought that those who understand me I should understand. I liked the idea that crosses them and their T-shirt, and me and mine. ... It would have taken me to remove 'dines' for the joke that is not beyond my means ...
I'm tired, tired tired tired to hear them complain, after the holidays. Support their regret at not staying, to be back, for "when is it you can leave?" and "it's too ugly, anything!". Not to mention the accent with which they nonchalant watery eyes dry, empty soul. Emphasis they have made, "there".
Over there we did not care much where their mouth / focus / city.
The worst, the worst of the worst, is that listening to them in deciding, why not give them the chance to express perhaps a real thought, you realize they are only one regret where they spent two months with Parisians for Parisians. It's crazy. It's completely mad, actually. In truth, no but, wait, if you think about 2 seconds, it's so crazy. That means:
Hi, I'm from Paris, I am going on vacation, I'm too joisse.
Hi I am Parisian, I returned from vacation, I'm too down.
-Oh shit. But why?
-Bin, you see, there, was ... Pfiouh.
-Hmmmm. Yeah. What else?
-Pfiouh.
- "Pfiouh" means nothing, okay? "Pfiouh" can be assimilated in many different ways. For example, me, then I say "pfiouh, what you got shit!"
"No but you're crazy! The Parisian super
reacts quickly when you do not understand his skull. Super, super fast.
-So "pfiouh" what?
-Pfiouh, festival, concerts, friends ...
-Hmmmm. Non-
but even the backstage what. The backstage-
also were "pfiouh? The backstage-
were iiber Pfiouh.
-Basically, what was Pfiouh was living in Paris at the seaside?
-What?
-Pffff .........
From summer camp to the colonization of leisure, there is a slight border as boorish never fails to overtake.
They come back, never mind, I go. Really, their exaggerated tan makes me green with nausea. Besides that conceals their sadness too bad, it reminds me of the foundation too heavy on aging femme fatale.
There are trains every day, some of them are moving to places where even the Parisians are gone. Hi
company.
I'll be back when my fellow-and "congeners," he ay "Generation" - have made the project's future and excitement instead of believing and not yet nostalgic echo no past, no story only boredom. I will return because very quickly, much faster than planned, I will miss Paris. Paris missed my life. In my daily life. When I can bear it again worth more than his cowardly disciples and many traitors.
is the only problem in Paris: it is infested with Parisians. Parisians who do not appreciate it at its fair value. No, because yes, Paris has a value, whatever the skeptics.
as I hate them. I hate them cheerfully. I Conchie, even, to be quite honest. I do not want to be one of them. Rather die.
On my return, invigorated and satiated by iodine of calm, I regularly remind them that they forget a detail, those Parisians who do not is that in return, nobody she likes more. It serves them right.
I'm not far from grumbling against everything and everyone, it seems.
Because I'm Paris, yes sir.
And I like it.
-maispastrop-
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