For a definition of bad luck, stroll rue Étienne-Marcel. This Tuesday, June 2, in the afternoon, a few steps from the Halles de Paris, a violent fire due to a gas leak was invited to the premises of the Louvre Post Office. The perimeter has been blocked for 15 hours, for fear of an explosion. Inside the risk zone, the coffee makers forced to close tear their hair out, curse the 83 days of inactivity that have just passed. When the police finally repack the red ribbon, they rush off as if to start to plant their chairs on the sidewalk. It is 8 pm, life in the orange zone can begin.
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In the adjacent streets, thousands of Parisians are already seated under a cloudless sky for a moment of relaxation that has been gone for almost three months. The crowds are torrential, the terraces overflow onto the street. Some managers have spaced their tables and installed hydroalcoholic gel dispensers, the good students have put up
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