At the big place the cinemas splash around their blue neon, the pharmacy flip flops green neon crosses and Hippo glows in red neon. Somehow this mixes in the air, making everyone extras in a Technicolor movie far beyond the rainbow, a reality that makes Disney pastel in comparison. Maybe it's just because the camera was set to vivid. Well darkness had crept closer so there was deepening black too. Not, you know, like black velvet. Our nighttime black was crisper than velvet even if it was soft.
Friday night means the roller rando so I hung around the métro entry in front of the Miramar cinema, waiting for the horde on wheels to glide down from the station. You see some people you might like to meet, and then you see them hook up with dudes they've been waiting for. Isn't that the way? Very few seemed to go in the cinema right there, but there's another multiplex around the corner on Odessa, and two more across the boulevard.
It was just before ten so I crossed the street to see if I could get up on the patio overlooking the place but it was blocked off. Back down I went out in the place and on one of the bus islands, took a look around. Traffic was light for a Friday. Three cyclists scooted across in a lull, going totally the wrong way.There was a story about cops from Spain and Italy patrolling with Paris' flics. Concern about our behavior knows no borders, so I did wonder why there didn't seem to be any law around. All those people, out for good times on Friday night, and their pockets weren't worth searching, their mouths weren't worth testing? Maybe all the Olympic drug snoops are concentrated on the autoroutes.
The rollers must have gone the other way, south on avenue du Maine. I went up Odessa to Edgar Quinet and ripped off a last set of shots of the Café Liberté. It came out all red and yellow, like a café version of hell. I couldn't fix it. It was way off the scale. All the other photos were pretty much as they came out of the camera.