Paris -- The End

On a lone walk, belly full of couscous, I ended up on a small quiet street where a parted curtain gave me a peek at what looked like an artists' class. (There were others there, but I could only see them as figures behind the curtain.) Someone had placed this doll in the window either as inspiration, or so that they could keep their back turned to it and not have to look at it.




On the same street as the artists' school. This time there were no curtains, and I could see the entirety of a large white room, completely empty except for the two strollers. There was no angle at which I could see more of the second room than the back of this guy's head, but I imagine it was another class. For some reason, based on nothing at all other than the stark minimalism of the space, I felt like the discussion was about architecture. But what about the strollers? Maybe the class was actually about babies? For babies? Taught by babies?



Near Montmartre.




Montmartre is filled with tourist-trap artistes trying to draw your caricature. This was a nice break from that.



It was pretty much impossible to capture what was happening here, due to the dirtiness/reflection of the glass, the obstruction of the grate, and the darkness of the cat. We stood in front of this store window for many minutes, watching this cat lazily topple sculpture after sculpture in his pursuit of either absolute destruction or a simple back scratch. We knocked on the grate and on the window, made "Go Away!" gestures, and generally tried to get the cat to leave the surviving pieces alone, but he ignored us and kept on with his rampage.

I wondered if he had broken into the store, or if he was the domesticated guard cat who finally had had enough of his oppressors and their silly statuary pursuits.






Almost...


...no, wrong way...


..there he is!