This was a shop window in the middle of a trendy street filled with clothing boutiques and perfume shops.
Even though the tools and other hardware look kind of beat to hell, they are probably hundreds of years old and still function perfectly.
I imagined myself bringing home a nice hatchet for my brother Billy. "Here's a souvenir I got you from Paris, Billy."
"Huh?"
"Yes, I thought you might like it better than a baseball cap."


Here is a self portrait of my foot standing on one of their famous hobblestone streets. If the endless flights of stairs don't get you, these streets will. Even with high tech, stretch-o-matic woven leather shoes guaranteed to last at least 100,000 miles, my dogs were always barking loud enough to wake up the neighborhood. By the time I got home, I had twin Achille's tendonitis, trick knees, aching quads and glutes that could crack walnuts. How those Paris fashionistas can rock stilettos is the mystery of the ages.