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The French

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November 10, 2017

The footpaths are quite wide on the boulevards in Paris. I was hurrying along one of these on Wednesday when I noticed a man standing in the middle of the pavement. He was in his forties, a little ragged around the edges. He had a cigarette in his hand.

I was moving around him when he coughed. He turned without looking and spat, only missing me by a nanometre because I managed to do a sideways leap in time. I let out a squeak of protest. His mouth dropped open. We were both as surprised as each other.

He began to apologise but then seemed to think better of it. He chuckled. ‘You should never walk behind me,’ he scolded.

I hurried on, laughing to myself. The cheek!

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