Before sunset, we walk through brick alleyways toward the old bridge. We wait to cross with a group of French schoolkids with navy backpacks and colored neckerchiefs, the boys with that slight, dampish look and the girls with short skirts and innocent kohl-lined eyes.
There are men in crisp black suits and brown shoes on motorscooters and on the corner, a photoshoot. The models straddle a Vespa–the man in white pants and a cabled sweater, the woman in scarlet lipstick and her high heels making black marks on his white, white pants as they smile blindly into a foil sun. It is summer and they are hot.
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