This was the calm before the storm. Paris had been ground to a standstill by striking workers.
Stepping out of the beauty of the Musee d’Orsay, I got very different impressions at the site of “tooled up” Gendarmerie waiting for a riot. I took some shots of the peaceful demonstrators and the armed police with my iphone and posted them online.
They all mysteriously vanished but fortunately I had my Nikon with me.
It’s only temporary this block thing. I’ll think of something clever soon. Something good enough to post that will make people smile and hit the like button. Or even comment. That’ll be nice.
It’s a long winding drive and the rain is coming down heavy now, like my mood. I’m not sure why we bought the place. A lifestyle block with a couple of olive trees and some apricot ones that we chop down every couple of winters for fine smelling firewood. By the beach with a nice view of the city which is miles away. Another world.
Inspiration he cries and I reach into the back for my phone and some paper; rummaging amongst the dog eared books and running shoes and a nearly empty bottle of vodka. There it is. Now I just need a pen because they’ll like this. In the glove box. I turn up the radio and hear a loud bang and suddenly feel very cold.
Green lights. Red lights. Traffic blocked in both directions. Lots of yellow jackets with POLICE on the back. I watch myself being cut out of my car by firemen as the motor cyclist, still encased in a helmet, slides silently into the back of an ambulance. The truck driver wanders around in circles throwing his arms in the air in shock.
I tap the pen in my hand, unable to remember what I was going to write down or whomever I was thinking of calling. Perhaps to say that life is temporary.