Three Frenchmen

Today I “made the acquaintance” of three Frenchmen who live near me. In-teresting.

Frenchman #1: Upstairs neighbor. Met him in the lobby of the building where I am currently renting the apartment. He was returning from work, struggling to get his bicycle up the steps in the internal lobby and through the inner door. I held the door for him. Wow: rides a bicycle to work through Montmartre hills? Obviously in good physical shape. He is very handsome, salt&pepper with bright blue eyes, slightly older than me, nice sweater/short/trousers outfit. Striking, even. Our conversation: after he ascertains I am the visiting renter, he reminds me to a/ close the inner door of the lobby fully, to make certain no one unauthorized can get in, b/ reminds me to close the window against rain because it always blows in and can ruin the floor, c/ reminds me to turn off the water heater before leaving at the end of my rental period, d/ complains about how noisy the washer-dryer is.

Sigh. Great conversation with sexy Frenchman.

Were the last tenants short-bus people? Or is it just that I look stupid?

Frenchman #2: Across the street, one floor down. Tall, broad-shouldered Frenchman smoking in window—dark hair, strong nose, about my age. Gray sweater, black polo, jeans. Putting laundry on rack, drinking red wine, smoking, staring down into la rue.In and out of window, smoking.

Frenchman #3: Across the street, same floor. Cute younger guy, buttondown shirt, curly dark brown hair, wandering around. I suddenly realize he is holding up a pair of pants, checking length or something, then puts them down: he is in checkered boxers. Yes, short, glasses, sox, tie… and no pants. Pacing back and forth in front of window: boxers, boxers, boxers, pants. Clearly he doesn’t think anyone is/can see him.

I love living in a city.

Pearl