Secrets of Paris

Yeti the iceman

Extracted from one of my Parisian Diaries 18/1/08

I walk around the chilly alleys of Paris. Runny eyes blur my vision and a r(f)unny nose, my dignity! 

A heavily patina-ted back door, nestled in the equally heavily patina-ted ancient walls that protect the orifice, creaks open and I glimpse a smoky little kitchen, gleaming gold and alive with activity and steam. 

A half-naked kitchen (scully) boy, casually saunters out to deeply inhale his own brand of smoke and rubs his hairy body with satisfaction, perspiration gluing the sleeves of his vest to his chest… Aleta Michaletos