For a long time, I liked being a pedestrian in Paris.
Like those writers who roamed the streets, commenting on the incessant metamorphoses of the city, its noises, its beats, attentive to it as to a loved body.
I loved the popular poetry, the shambles… Everyone yelled at everyone: the taxis shouted at the cars;
cars after deliveries;
bikers after drivers;
the bicycles tried to make their way… and the pedestrians dodged, grumbling the onslaught of everyone…
- It hasn't changed much: the Parisian rattles, it's his way of breathing!
- Yes, but there were small solidarities: the pedestrian was indulgent towards the bicycles, as if between minorities, we had to help each other!
And the driver who stopped at a crosswalk was celebrated as an everyday hero!
- You're not going to do the trick of "it was better before"?
- No, it was far from being perfect, but a kind of balance managed to be found, a kind of “order…
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