Cutting the French some slack

At the end of my street lies a park. I walked through the park today, as I do every day, on my way home from class. It was just after the local schools had gotten out and children were everywhere. I noticed two things: little girls with healed boots that went above their knees and little garcons with miniture-ties and freshly-ironed pantaloons. I don't know if they're uniforms, I'm not sure if it's better that they are or not.

Walking into the city I pass my share of homeless men (so far no women). Last week I passed a homeless party on Avenue Malsherbes. I did a double take to make sure I actually saw two bottles of Chardonnay and filled wine glasses. I did. There was a sign in front of one of the men's sleeping bags that read “Je suis malade. M’aidez s’il vous-plait”. Unreal.

The purpose:
I went to a chocolate festival yesterday, something I had been anticipating for over a week. I got off the metro and realized it was on “Avenue des Canadiens.”

I guess not all of Paris is backwards.