Tight-Lipped

Franck started pacing up boulevard Pasteur, crossing over to the tree-lined central reservation that separated the traffic heading up to Montparnasse from that speeding downhill away from it. He skirted an impromptu game of pétanque – another sign of lingering summer and a serious threat to the integrity of the cars parked nearby. As the game involved tossing around steel boules weighing up to 800 grammes, the immediate proximity of windscreens and door panels was scarcely ideal. Particularly given the lack of skill demonstrated by the group at play. Then again, a few dents and the odd scratch were badges of honour for Parisian cars. Only those who could afford underground parking lots could aspire to pristine bodywork.