Hipsterville 2013

Day 35. The underground operates a safe house on the second floor above the vacant dépanneur immediately across the alley from my balcony. The grey nondescript building does not betray the people who move through there. Those temporary souls trying hard to disguise their thick Parisienne accents and a love of baguettes. Just yesterday I by chance witnessed a tall thin brunette woman from this location actually cradling a swaddled stick of bread. She cooed and rocked it like a baby trying at first to disguise her charge, but in the end actually being overcome by her crispy offspring. It was merely my vantage point high on my second floor perch that allowed me to recognize that the baby was in fact bread. The Madame's loving embrace convincing to street bound passersby, hiding from them her deep European roots.

I am not sure what it is that the movement has in store for this other wing of patriots, one can only speculate on their future mission. But it is clear that at the moment they have the same assignment as I: "Blend In". It would appear their job is easily as difficult as mine. Removing beautiful sun hats, and prim starched cotton summer dresses and donning low cut tanks displaying side-boob and those relentless crack displaying low rider skinny jeans is a feat that makes my mesh-back ball capping problem now seem admittedly weak by comparison. 

 I'm not sure if they are aware of my existence here on Brébeuf. Perhaps I shall hang our code flag in the window in an attempt to make contact. I anticipate comradery and jam.

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