The world is attracted to Paris, the city of light, but if you stay to live the shadow beneath her reveals itself to you eventually…at least it has to me. Through my daily struggle in Paris, I began to realize what possessed me to title this blog as ‘the third red apple.’ An initial hint is in the pages available in English and French, but little did I know that it was just a beginning.
Sunday, 11 June 2017
The true horror stories in modern Paris Part 26
In spite of everything Paris continues to
draw people in for many reasons, but one of mine was to fulfill the dream of my
parents. They wished to live there
basking in her historical glories. As an
Asian with no siblings, it was all up to me to make this happen and my father’s
mind was gradually being eroded by Altimizers. Time was running out so I settled on this
apartment in Le Marais.
Thus I came face to face with the notorious
Mme. Empathy whose desire was to have fun at the expense of other people. Her smile made me feel uneasy, but I needed
to ask her to show me her kitchen. I was
initially hesitant to live above a restaurant, but my parents had weak knees
that they could only walk up to low floors.
As the small apartment was not above the client seats area I had decided
to move in. The kitchen noise from below
should be manageable with insulation and so in order to insulate my place effectively
I needed to see where her kitchen appliances were installed. To my request Mme. Empathy obliged with a
smile and pointed at a refrigerator which was only slightly bigger than a
domestic refrigerator. Something did not
sit right with me, but she kept talking and talking that I could not think
straight. Against my better judgement I
forced myself to believe her smile and left quickly. Such was her manipulative gift.
Then it began. The chef switched on their cooking
ventilation attached directly to their ceiling with no insulation. The vibration force virtually threw me away
from that particular spot. It was like
inside the airplane engine. The heat
would have scorched me had it been summer.
The only sanctuary was my kitchen but the hellish noise and vibration
would continue for 8 hours straight in preparation for their opening
party. I could not move because of the oppressive
force on my lungs that rendered me immobile.
With my shaking fingers I dialed Mme. Landlord. It was beginning of my long dark days in Paris. To be continued. <a href="//www.blogmura.com/point/01365672.html?type=image"><img src="//blogparts.blogmura.com/parts_image/user/pv01365672.gif" alt="PVアクセスランキング にほんブログ村" /></a>