5.02 - Paris

Running east between Place de Clichy and Stalingrad the #2-line rises out of the ground just past Anvers. Between Barbès Rochefort and La Chapelle, just out the northwest corner of the Gare du Nord (one of Paris' main stations), beneath the morning rumblings of the metro, pedestrians crowd into a dense sensory marketplace.

As voices of the merchants – Arabs, Frenchmen, Spaniards – rising over one another, gather in the passers-bye, potential buyers, not quite noticing they're singing…

Prices, and the names of produce rolling rhythmically off their tongues, collectively – with the fragrant smells of olives, oranges, and the overpowering fish (their eyes gazed upwards, blankly, at the overpass) – trapped in the light, like's gathered at reflected angles under tarps drawn taut, and awnings of every color, circulating smells (and sounds) that those at either end be drawn on towards the other, bumping into the watch-man, with his fake designer merchandise, his eyes a bit crooked like he wants you to know it's a seedy business, but him: he doesn't mind it, cause you: you'll be getting a good deal…

And the prices are cheap, whether or not you need a watch, or a mango. And, for me, perhaps for the first time, Paris seems truly alive; not just an overcrowded tourist-trap after all...