Tuesday, October 07, 2008



I'm waiting for the elevator on the 8th floor and all I can smell is the scent of ham and cheese crepes wafting gently around the corners of the offices. If I was inspired to venture into the kitchen to investigate I am sure that my hallucinations of jaunty streetside vendors peddling fresh, crispy-edged triangles of rosy ham and gooey chese would fracture and fall away when I came across (as seems mostly likely) a middle-aged office-worker microwaving a piece of sweaty ham and plastic-wrapped cheese by way of a hurried lunch. But I don't investigate and the drifting scent stirs memories of Paris in the wintertime, and ice-skating on Valentine's Day at the Marie de Paris.

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