It’s in the Air

Sometimes when I sit at my desk to write, I put my glass of water on the ledge next to the open window. When I pick up the glass to take a sip, maybe fifteen or twenty minutes later, there are oftentimes tiny pieces of grayish soot floating around in it. Then I remember Paris is a huge polluted hellhole and run to close all the windows. The kids are forced to stay indoors for the rest of the day and must breathe through respirators attached to their heads with giant rubber bands.

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