A cloudy summer evening. We’re walking aimlessly through the big city.
On the banks of Seine, young people are chatting around something to eat and drink. The waves created by big tourist boats fade away at their feet.
The rain comes unexpectedly and we find ourselves floating in a sea of umbrellas. For a few moments, it rains heavily. Il pleut des cordes, as they say here.
The setting sun appears through the rain. It changes the contrast and texture of things. It makes them heavier, more real. Shadows are getting longer.
I don’t know if it was me taking your hand or you taking mine. We enter this old, glass-covered Parisian passage with small shops and cafes. Embroidery, stamps, jewelry, toys.
A silver-haired guy in a colorful coat, perfectly in tune with the atmosphere of the passage, briefly looks at the posters then enters a stamp shop. He looks like he belongs here.
When we get out on the other side of the passage, the rain has passed, the streets have dried up, and it’s almost dark. It’s just that indefinable after-the-rain smell that still endures.