My neck of Montmartre has gotten more upscale in the last few years, which brings more tourists and more trash. The neighbors in my building are incensed. One has taken rolls and rolls of pictures of trash in the cobblestone square in front of our building. She has developed the film, placed images in a fancy photo album, and intends to give it to the Mayor of Paris. Myself, I throw on plastic gloves, and, on rainy days like today, a plastic “stole” recycled from a dry cleaning sleeve, kept in place by a chic hat, and I pick up the trash. It takes about three minutes. When I told me snap-happy neighbor about this habit, she recoiled: “I would never do that.”