A teaming, seething, babbling, expanding human mass of suburban overflow eating its way outwards into the streets of Paris.
What must have started as an ordered collection of buildings housing markets organised by type...
Antiques, records, books, maps, clocks, stamps, materials,
... has swelled to encompass the streets around, filled with an ever increasing density of knock-off clothes, discount accessories, scrap metal, bikes, arts, second hand bric-a-brac and anything else of dubious origin.
But beyond this, like some giant engorged muscle drowning in steroids, it has exploded out onto the streets beyond.
For a near kilometer the streets are a scurrying, yelling, pleading, smiling tangle of hawkers loaded with cheap watches, belts and sunglasses, that have achieved a density so far beyond that of the passing people they are trying to sell to, that it seems the only business they do is with each other... in a perpetually self-feeding process of incestuous purchase.
...
Lunch in the Sri-Lankan quater.
Biryani and a beer, to break the long walk up Rue St Denis, past the Faubourg and Gare du Nord and out towards the Peripherique and the Banlieu beyond.
...
Afternoon Apero with blues, cheese, wine and cidre.
Weekend in Paris and Barcelona beyond.
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