I dragged myself to the market yesterday. When I got to my regular greengrocer, I shook hands all around as usual (they have heavy, calloused red hands and it makes me feel guilty for my easy life). I bought some avocadoes and was warned not to try to eat them right away, and given a sample of the mangoes and clementines. As I was leaving, the woman reached under the counter and brought out this little bouquet of lilies-of-the-valley. "And I wish you a happy May Day!" she said. "These are from my own garden."
In the afternoon, it was beautiful weather. Everyone who was left in Paris, and all the tourists, seemed to be with me on the Champs-Elysées. On the corner of avenue Montaigne, I saw this sexy cow with lipstick, high heels and black lace, by Chantal Thomass, who makes lingerie. It seemed to be the general favorite. Over by the Petit Palais there is another cow with a Moulin Rouge theme. It even has the big windmill wings over it.
I got into a conversation with a man from Mali, who was listening to the beginning of the big soccer game between the Olympique de Marseille and the Paris-Saint-Germain teams at the Stade de France. He said he was for O.M.
"Doesn't that make you unpopular, in Paris?" I asked.
"Oh no! All the immigrants are for O.M."
"Why is that?"
"The PSG is racist. I don't mean the team itself, but their fans. They're a bunch of racist hooligans."
Last night after midnight, there was suddenly an uproar of car-horn honking and cheering, and we knew that the PSG must have won.