Explosions on the Place de La Bastille to remind everyone how it used to be. But it’s just teargas.
At the end of Rue de La Roquette, proud French citizens lament the problems of the sou and the steady decline of the Nation, forever complaining about the Establishment beneath a grey January sky, holding placards and wearing masks as they march through clouds of teargas.
They wear oversized German and American coats made in China and Japan, bellowing about pensions and mask mandates and the rising price of oil. One white man sings the blues in a bad American accent. Others sing songs about how it used to be, sometime long ago when children could still believe in fantasies, sometime long ago when it wasn’t everyone’s fault, not exactly, sometime long ago when French citizens both rich and poor could still afford the luxury of not knowing how the world works, not exactly.
Chez moi xo