August toggle . Balanced on the axis of 15, between vacation and back. To the left of the calendar, the banks of Paris open to pedestrians. Somersault right, the tarmac finds his old habits: trucks, cars, and motorbikes.
late July, I dawdle nose break, between the streets of the capital. Approaching the river, I saw against the bottom strip of sand and a line of umbrellas. I take the stairs and crept among the swirl of onlookers. My nose gets carried away ... obviously
Small uppercut at the edge of the nostrils. Smell fat frying oil saturated by successive firings and the temperature too high, I welcome. I dive into the caricature of the seaside: scrunchies, fuss, and fries in plastic containers. Stuck at the corner of the bridge, the dug blue Heaven is surrounded by a long line of hungry people who prevail, their bellies pressed against a pyramid of foods hot and fragrant with the aroma ranges from roasted vanilla, salt and vinegar. Sounded a bit, I realize that the images olfactory succeed very quickly, one chasing the other and I can not dwell on the shell. They are concentrated in a narrow band - the width of the road between the river and the quay wall - and runs into a dense aligned, because the idea is to give walkers the maximum opportunities for relaxation and recreation. I leave the fat on the smell and slides dry, mineral sand blonde spread in a sandbox for adults: chairs, small umbrellas, some plastic buckets and shovels. I lean grab a rake and red. He sniffs a funny smell of banana and cement. No trace of iodine, of course. New uppercut. This time, I breathe through your nose. The shadow of the bridge while a gently envelops whiff of ammonia tears me a grin. I follow chemical toilets backed the tunnel, the doors, disguised as bamboo, open and close without respite, regularly belching breath pungent faeces disinfected. I draw and I emerge to light when the atmosphere suddenly changes. My nose captures a stream of images of wet wood and tar intermingled, while a fine mist rinse the painful miasma. Misters are stuck on a long wooden parapet with alternating boxes containing clumps of plants, vaulted by ambient moisture. Sense of sugar, sweet and oily smell of wet clothes suddenly. Children spend between my legs and I sniff their heads warm, sweaty, dripping and cold suddenly. The smell burst like a soap bubble, honeyed and slightly sour. I take the road to dry roads and also dry, the scent of pine resin, wood fiber trenches recently replaced the sensation milk cartons and wet wood. Trestles, tables and benches for a relaxing break. I meet a mom. Her baby, nestled in the heart of his arm goes right under my nose. I absorb comforting aroma of biscuit, sweating of the infant. Then, a breath of stale vase, the passage of a boat on the Seine. Under the Pont Neuf music swells, traditional and cheerful. Three men dance, hands above their heads. A circle of strangers around the stage, smiling, body bobbing to the beat of drums. Intersection of peoples. Empathy ephemeral and fleeting. Like odor. Elusive. Tricked, identified, and then dispersed in the incessant movement of musical notes, cheers and laughter. I give the musicians and I met a clown. It grinds of those big balloons gnarled hands, and created abstract shapes in the mine a lot of radiant stunned toddlers. White makeup, red nose and smell of waffles. I step over several generations and falls on a musette. Dancers tend mines serious ear to the tempo of the accordion, then rush forward and balance shamelessly jets Cologne. Suddenly, an incredible perfume souk Marshmallow pulling my nose. I pivoted on my heels: three beautiful drag queens parading and absconding. Immediately, fern and dad cyprus beefy creep through the cracks, and the waltz, stopped just a moment, took her knitting out of date. Coumarin, oak moss and little perspiration. Something clean and sweet just upsets me. Chewing gum. A man touches me and moves his way to the lookout. He chews his solitude. Good breath fresh looking for a damsel? Our paths diverge, I will continue my personal quest. An exhalation strange caress my face. I near the mouth of the tunnel that disappears beneath the Quai du Louvre. Respiration acid and cold that keeps track tires, roasts vehicles, engines and specks of human urine. Curious mix of gentle and sweet pastry made of raw licorice, lime, wood smoke, and gingerbread.
It is time to return to the surface to get on with the city and close my nose. What time is the next meeting ... movie?
late July, I dawdle nose break, between the streets of the capital. Approaching the river, I saw against the bottom strip of sand and a line of umbrellas. I take the stairs and crept among the swirl of onlookers. My nose gets carried away ... obviously
Small uppercut at the edge of the nostrils. Smell fat frying oil saturated by successive firings and the temperature too high, I welcome. I dive into the caricature of the seaside: scrunchies, fuss, and fries in plastic containers. Stuck at the corner of the bridge, the dug blue Heaven is surrounded by a long line of hungry people who prevail, their bellies pressed against a pyramid of foods hot and fragrant with the aroma ranges from roasted vanilla, salt and vinegar. Sounded a bit, I realize that the images olfactory succeed very quickly, one chasing the other and I can not dwell on the shell. They are concentrated in a narrow band - the width of the road between the river and the quay wall - and runs into a dense aligned, because the idea is to give walkers the maximum opportunities for relaxation and recreation. I leave the fat on the smell and slides dry, mineral sand blonde spread in a sandbox for adults: chairs, small umbrellas, some plastic buckets and shovels. I lean grab a rake and red. He sniffs a funny smell of banana and cement. No trace of iodine, of course. New uppercut. This time, I breathe through your nose. The shadow of the bridge while a gently envelops whiff of ammonia tears me a grin. I follow chemical toilets backed the tunnel, the doors, disguised as bamboo, open and close without respite, regularly belching breath pungent faeces disinfected. I draw and I emerge to light when the atmosphere suddenly changes. My nose captures a stream of images of wet wood and tar intermingled, while a fine mist rinse the painful miasma. Misters are stuck on a long wooden parapet with alternating boxes containing clumps of plants, vaulted by ambient moisture. Sense of sugar, sweet and oily smell of wet clothes suddenly. Children spend between my legs and I sniff their heads warm, sweaty, dripping and cold suddenly. The smell burst like a soap bubble, honeyed and slightly sour. I take the road to dry roads and also dry, the scent of pine resin, wood fiber trenches recently replaced the sensation milk cartons and wet wood. Trestles, tables and benches for a relaxing break. I meet a mom. Her baby, nestled in the heart of his arm goes right under my nose. I absorb comforting aroma of biscuit, sweating of the infant. Then, a breath of stale vase, the passage of a boat on the Seine. Under the Pont Neuf music swells, traditional and cheerful. Three men dance, hands above their heads. A circle of strangers around the stage, smiling, body bobbing to the beat of drums. Intersection of peoples. Empathy ephemeral and fleeting. Like odor. Elusive. Tricked, identified, and then dispersed in the incessant movement of musical notes, cheers and laughter. I give the musicians and I met a clown. It grinds of those big balloons gnarled hands, and created abstract shapes in the mine a lot of radiant stunned toddlers. White makeup, red nose and smell of waffles. I step over several generations and falls on a musette. Dancers tend mines serious ear to the tempo of the accordion, then rush forward and balance shamelessly jets Cologne. Suddenly, an incredible perfume souk Marshmallow pulling my nose. I pivoted on my heels: three beautiful drag queens parading and absconding. Immediately, fern and dad cyprus beefy creep through the cracks, and the waltz, stopped just a moment, took her knitting out of date. Coumarin, oak moss and little perspiration. Something clean and sweet just upsets me. Chewing gum. A man touches me and moves his way to the lookout. He chews his solitude. Good breath fresh looking for a damsel? Our paths diverge, I will continue my personal quest. An exhalation strange caress my face. I near the mouth of the tunnel that disappears beneath the Quai du Louvre. Respiration acid and cold that keeps track tires, roasts vehicles, engines and specks of human urine. Curious mix of gentle and sweet pastry made of raw licorice, lime, wood smoke, and gingerbread.
It is time to return to the surface to get on with the city and close my nose. What time is the next meeting ... movie?
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