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).