Hatred

With sentiments heating up over next Sunday's presidential elections, there is no shortage of defacing of political campaign posters. Eyes scratched out, mustaches drawn in, and personal commentary of all stripes. Somehow, in my mind's eye, I imagined that these graffiti-makers were young voyous, the same types you see with their giant magic markers in ill-supervised metro stations writing on the billboards.

Until today.

Riding my bike down rue Dombasle in the 15th arrondissement, I saw a man, about 50-ish, with shoulder-length hair and wearing sandals and a backpack, violently scribbling on three Sarkozy posters. I tried in vain to snap a photo of him from afar. By the time I got closer, I was too scared of him to actually take the picture. He looked big and mean. Scowling. So I rode past, then turned around to see if I could get a shot of him from down the street, but he hopped into his dented old Peugeot junior, which still had the engine running, and sped away.

The message: 1,58 metres de haine pure (5 feet 3 inches of pure hatred)

Of course, defacing political posters isn't exactly an act of loving kindness.