I think I’m witnessing the disposal of a body, on a balcony across the road. I can’t see the body, but I know it’s there from the lifting and grunting and dragging from the two men stooped over something quite obviously heavy. A body. My delightful host has said nothing to quell this suspicion, in fact quite the contrary, fanning the flames. Apparently the chaps over the road are the B*tch Killers of the 19th Arrondissement. They have a branded van and business cards and drive around disposing of bitchy women apparently, which, I am told, is a particular problem in this neighbourhood.
Nice blokes by all accounts. Who knew?
(I’m too scared to take a photo in case it’s true).