Dear Shaded Viewers and Diane,
There was a time, long ago but not so long, when things used to happen on Sunday too. Before gloomy souls would slide into the darkest hours of night to loosen up, when a girl wouldn't care about the deepness of his thoughts as long as her date could dance. Fun wouldn't necessarily come with sin, and wasn't a way to forget pain because spirits were stronger back then, and pain was intangible, light and soft and almost as sweet as candy floss, and no broken heart couldn't be healed with some daytime dancing.
If you happened to have walked by rue de Lappe yesterday afternoon, you won't need to imagine it: a silky crew wrapped in Herm
