There are crows in the park｜The misunderstanding in Paris

Not sure if this narrative is correct, but I remember seeing a flock of black birds in an unnamed park in the 18th arrondissement of Paris that day, probably crows? By the way, can't be sure if this is true or not because I occasionally confuse fantasies, dreams and facts, and can't remember them after a few years.

At that time, I also had the habit of writing diaries, but it was impossible to read them again, all the diaries were discarded, or I did not record this day at all, it was not a special day.

At that time, I had to cross from one place to the Montmartre cemetery (Cimetière de Montmartre). I passed a store opened by North Africans in a district, and there were many people queuing up in front of a building that looked like a public sector to register for welfare. There were blankets on the ground. Some of the food discarded by people was trampled and stuck to the floor. The crows flew very low and hovered over the waste... The impression of this image is that I remember walking while avoiding them. Then he said to himself, "Aren't there even pigeons here?"

I briefly fell into the third dimension, and there was no one else in the place where the crows were swarming, so I was able to walk for a while talking to myself, and then I remembered the scene of "Suicide Shop".

I don't like pigeons and crows. I'm afraid of anything that can fly, and I hate anything with feathers.

A homeless man picked up a cigarette that had just been discarded on the floor - pretty sure it was real - and he took a puff, probably only to have one more puff. I went to the Montmartre Cemetery that day to think about something. I like to sit in the cemetery in a daze, pretending to understand the epitaph at first, and then try to read Latin to distract my attention. In short, no matter what happens in the cemetery, it feels very peaceful.

As long as you don't meet someone who's crying. Actually never met.

Montmartre is a place where many artists gather, and the cemetery is also filled with artists who have lived here before. Compared with the deceased people in the cemetery of Father Lachaise, I know very little, and I have not studied who is buried here. At this time, I am a person without feeling, and a cemetery is a cemetery. I can't tell the difference in atmosphere between these cemeteries, but I just go here with a feeling of precipitation.

Whenever I plan to go to a place or do something, even if I go to the cemetery to meditate on such things, I feel a special sense of mission, as if I "go" to accomplish something, and then it is a baptized person. I! So that day was an exhilarating ride through the eighteenth district store area, where the scene always looked gloomy - passers-by arguing (or just talking) in Arabic, shoving side-by-side, squatting in front of the store Smoking African-American shopkeepers, colorful but desperate Asian manicure shops (this is my over-interpretation) - if you pass by in summer, you will feel that you will be contaminated with a little "foreigner smell" - and I don't It should be thought like this, what qualifications do I have to say that they are outsiders?

The day went by very fast, as if those chaotic scenes had nothing to do with me, I just wanted to go to the cemetery, and then everything would be solved, I don't know where the confidence came from? Maybe it's part of my romance. I also met gypsies who cheated tourists. They rushed over as if they didn't see them. I heard them keep saying "please!" to my back. It's a tourist, and he speaks French to me.

Heavy raindrops began to fall on the last part of the uphill road. Soon after, the rain fell like a basin. The dark impression in front was because it was about to rain, and the crow appeared because of this, right? The whole body was wet, and even the contact lens of the right eye was flushed out, it really seemed like a "baptism".

That day, I failed to enter the cemetery, and I walked slowly back to my residence with the only remaining vision in my left eye, but the moment I opened the door, I knew the problem was solved.

Misunderstanding in Paris