every spring, the same swallow! Each April, the same big fish! Because, docks as well as to smaller ports that are still in the Seine, a new table is always aligned. Most often, it promises us the small boats, the pretty waves, the life in lapping, the bridges of Paname and the delights of a river. Parenthesis regularly disillusioned when, each time, the disaster called the broth that order the big mug. As if, too near his pots and pans, its two banks, Paris lost its currency and its latin. It floats as much as it flows. This year, however, we want to believe it. Port of the Conference, at the pier of the Club Boats-Flies, Christian Etchebest, bistro seriously desalted, installs one of his seconds. This should do it!
A blue sky like a sea of reverse, a Seine, a café, happy to wander around its tourists, and Paris, from the beginning, who is paddling to keep up appearances. It is that the Club Boats-the Flies, the …
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