My husband tells me he is battling traffic in hot, humid 95-degree-temps in Virginia while I'm zipping around in cool low-70's here in Paris. But there's not enough time in the day, regardless. This timepiece sculpture outside the St Lazare train station appeals to me, hosting weary pigeons who need a break, stretching the hours, setting the time forward or backward as you choose. If only. The serious clock is still there in the background.
Each day I am greedy to see as much as I can, slowly but surely exploring different arrondissements around each special site I visit. And I measure time by how much my feet hurt by the end of the day. (Not really complaining, you know.) If only I had one of these motorbikes, ubiquitous here, noisily maneuvering through traffic, parked on every square.
Or if only I had one of the little toy cars that must have wheels that turn at 90-degree angles to scuttle sideways into impossibly small parallel parking spaces. Speaking of parking spaces, have you been wondering what's behind those great double doors that punctuate the serried collection of connected block-long facades? Now you know. Why doesn't my garage look like this?
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