Oh Paris, what have you done to my ass?
First you have grabbed it and harassed it and put your filthy hands on it on the m�tro,
then you have gripped it and shaped it and put it in a skirt that leaves my knees shivering in thin stockings and expensive boots with strangely-fashioned heels
and yesterday you strained every muscle in it...
Oh Paris I am wearing silk stockings that Mapie had to sit down and show me how to pull past my knees, and a wool skirt that leaves me at a loss for how to put my ass in a chair and my feet in their customary place on the table.
Oh Paris I rollerbladed with the best of them yesterday, and suddenly Saturday's stress and shopping spree and the crowded shitstained streets were replaced by three hours of rushing cobblestones and Vendome Plaza and my bumbling near-pitch into the river at the hands of some non-parisian boy with an ACTUAL sense of humour. He tells jokes because he loves to laugh and not simply to try to get into everyone's skirts...
Oh Paris...
My ass hurts because of you. My ass hurts and I am uncomfortable in my chair and my knees are cold and I am so bloody impressed by the hundreds of people that got together yesterday just for the hell of pushing their bodies and discovering the air.
Hundreds. Crowds. Masses. Policement on rollerblades and ambulance workers on rollerblades and radio DJs on rollerblades with speakers strapped to their backs.
Now if only I could learn to skate... ;)