In the afternoon, they went out for a walk in Montsouris Park. At the entrance to the park was an ice cream vendor. Svetlana could not resist the urge. They got three scoops each: vanilla, raspberry and peach. Then they trailed along the lake. The heat was stifling. Sorbets tend to liquefy so they tried to gobble them up quickly. Sticky juice dripped down the cornets and spread over their fingers. Fortunately, Svetlanas huge pursea tote baghid a bundle of tissues and a bottle of water to clean their hands.
On a sloping plot of land covered with grass, they had settled near a tree where they benefitted from the shade it provided. The ethnic and social diversity of Paris was greatly represented by the groups gathered around these few square meters. The idlers basked in the sun and allowed their skin to bronze. Intellectuals turned pages of their different books. A sportswoman was doing yoga poses. A little further away, a person of Asian origin practiced chi kong. In her own bubble, isolated from everyone, she had blocked out everything around her. A man had just stopped running. He was stretching in a variety of positions in front of a woman sitting on a bench. She was peacefully reading. As if to show her his interest in her, he then joined her at the other end of the seat. He watched her with even more insistence. The age gap between them seemed huge. The man in question must have been nearly twenty years older than she was. Yet, the young beauty did not move an inch. She did not show it but she was waiting for the man to say something to her.
At the bottom, on the flattest area, a group of teenagers were having a bit of fun. The young people were dancing on reggae music. A boy a little older than the rest of the group seemed to be teaching them basic movements.
The atmosphere was filled with camaraderie. Sunny Paris gave everyone the desire to find a partner and couple up. The aroma of love was dispersed in the air and filtered by the lungs, before contaminating the body and the psyche with orgasmic appetites.
Its really the city of love, Svetlana said.
Frank smiled. He thought about that common description of the place. He remembered an ex who claimed the opposite. According to her, romantic Paris did not really exist. She came to this city with too many expectations. The contemporary reality had disappointed her.
Frank had contented himself with a moderate opinion: It seems. But I think that seduction works the same way in all countries. Its not like that in Russia?