Fragile green leaves on pollarded trees, still small and pale.
The Chartreuse cemetery is full of mini buildings that families have erected over the tombs of their loved ones. Some of them look as if the stone has been cleaned recently.
A young woman with an open smile serves me a glass of Montagne Saint-Émilion. She tells me it’s a good supple one to start with.
A handsome boy high on drugs wearing two different sneakers pesters a woman on the tram. He moves on to another woman and ruffles her son’s hair repeatedly. I wish she hadn’t let him do that.
Poppies flowering by the railway track, red dots in an urban mess of cables and graffiti.
Wobbly slabs underfoot as I walk across empty spaces between towering glass and concrete.