4:53 p.m., Allée Sonia Rykiel, boulevard Raspail. I’m so tired of wearing a mask and seeing the capital deprived of its charm, without cafes or « douceur de vivre », disfigured by construction, signs and yellow plastic studs. I almost feel like I walked into The Matrix. Where is the Left Bank? Where is Paris ? Where are our lives? 

In 1 hour and 7 minutes my scooter will turn into a pumpkin.