Realizing that I had excluded my favorite exterior signage in my post on Le Bon Marché, I ambled down the block to snap this shot.
Out of nowhere, a dainty blonde on a Vélib came whooshing down the sidewalk. I was tempted to harrumph at her about reckless riding and the rules of the road for bicycles. She pedaled furiously in her leggings and ballerina flats, her pale ponytail fluttering. Encountering a knot of pedestrians, she skittered to a hasty stop, hopped off her bicycle, and still grasping the handlebars, dashed ahead on foot. "Oh, les jeunes," I grumbled inwardly, shaking my head.
Ten meters farther, she veered to the right, threw down her bike, and flung herself into the arms of a tall young guy waiting for her. Tears streaming down their cheeks, they began kissing frantically.
"Oh, les jeunes," I murmured, a lump rising in my throat.
Out of nowhere, a dainty blonde on a Vélib came whooshing down the sidewalk. I was tempted to harrumph at her about reckless riding and the rules of the road for bicycles. She pedaled furiously in her leggings and ballerina flats, her pale ponytail fluttering. Encountering a knot of pedestrians, she skittered to a hasty stop, hopped off her bicycle, and still grasping the handlebars, dashed ahead on foot. "Oh, les jeunes," I grumbled inwardly, shaking my head.
Ten meters farther, she veered to the right, threw down her bike, and flung herself into the arms of a tall young guy waiting for her. Tears streaming down their cheeks, they began kissing frantically.
"Oh, les jeunes," I murmured, a lump rising in my throat.
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