Crepe Scratch Fever

For the past few days, I've been feeling like shit. I catch bugs like the flu easily. I always have been like this. So, it wasn't a surprise to me that I got sick after we arrived here. I didn't feel like lying around all day, though. I'm in Paris, goddammit. I'm going to step out of the apartment.

The wife had class today. We walked her to her school. After that, I wanted to go somewhere. I googled the greenest part of the map nearest to us. We couldn't spend anything until I got my paycheck because I didn't pay attention at school when I was younger. I figured green = park = free. I found something green that had the word “balloon” in it. Maybe they launched hot air balloons from there. I don't know. We walked. Slowly. Because this flu felt more of like a gorilla on my back than a monkey.

The apartment and the school were in the high-rise, residential part of Paris. A bit far from all the touristy shit. I guess it was safe to say that this is how “du coin (dookwan)”, or “the locals” see Paris. I'll take this everyday commute over anything, anyday. Yes, there were parts where it smelled like piss and there's the occasional dog turd and trash, but, man the architecture, infrastructure and the urban planning is on point.

After some blocks, we encountered some green.

...and it gets thicker.

...warmer... warmer...

Bingo! We found the balloon!

We did like the du coin did and laid on the grass. I figured to let the gorilla off of my back for a little bit. I relaxed, breathed in the fresh air and opened my pores to the comforting hum of the city. I napped on the cool, manicured grass, spread-eagled.

I woke up around 20 minutes later. I sat up abruptly to check if my son was still with me. Thank goodness, he was.

“Gotta pee. And eat crepes.” I announced. My buddy thought it was a good idea.

We walked around looking for a toilet. The toilets in Paris are as forward thinking as can be. Wait. I take it back. They don't have bidets. But, still, public toilets in Paris have walled up cubicles, meaning you can't see or hear the person's explosives beside you, and some are robotically washed every after someone uses them. We found one and peed.

We started heading back to the apartment hoping to find a crepe stand. We joked around about getting crabs, pretended we were voice-overing a radio ad for douches while sounding like Borat. We talked about finding his niche in life, we talked about his abs. We talked about how cool Paris is and maybe when he grows up, he can live here.

We found an awesome playground. My buddy climbed up the playground thingees. I was going to join him, but I saw a sign with something in French written in it and the numbers 11-16. I guessed it was just for kids 11-16 years old. Bummer.

My buddy was happy to find the playground because he said he missed a bunch of his back/pull-up work out days.

He did his three sets and hung out with the French kids. Then, we started walking back for crepes. I told him the story I heard about how DJ Q-Bert named the crab (turntable) scratch - it came from the word “crepe”. Since they couldn't do the phlegmy sound the French made, they called it the “crab” scratch instead.

We came up on some kids who made a piece of public art a swimming pool and a backdrop for a photoshoot. Shit, you couldn't make this scene up anywhere.

We came up on some alien flowers from Mars.

We came up on my buddy, Eiffel (Shhh. She doesn't know I exist).

...and some topless chicks pulling on a harpoon.

BOOM! Crepes.

My soul feels a lot better now.