From the passenger seat of a moving taxi, I saw a man who looked vaguely like Art Garfunkel headed due south on a black Dutch-made bicycle in front of the Notre Dame cathedral. The chain guard covering the crank shaft bore a bumper sticker reading “FUCK BUSH.” My window was down, and I said to Bob Mertienssen, the Australian man riding in the back seat behind me, “Where is your camera when you need it?” He laughed.
Two days ago, I noticed the French flag above the Conciergerie was in tatters, giving it that “La Marseillaise” look. Again, no camera. I went by again today, but it had become tangled in the flagpole, and was no longer photogenic. I hope they don’t replace it before tomorrow.
There was a big white Laverne “L” on a painted-blue wall somewhere near Place Jeanne d’Arc. Now I cannot find it.
I saw a handicapped baby in a stroller, fiercely shaking an orange in the produce section at Tang Freres.