Sometimes, if the timing is right, I will take the bus instead of the metro for the last section of my daily commute. I much prefer the bus, there's hardly anyone in it, and I can have a nice warm seat, breathe and read whatever book I'm engrossed in (with said book at normal distance from my nose rather than pressed up against my face).
While I wait for the bus, midway between the hellish stretch of road that links La Defense with L'Arc de Triomphe, I amuse myself watching the morning flow of vehicles where traffic merges at a horrific intersection. When I say 'merges', those cars can get themselves into such a tight crossweave that D&G could probably sew a garment out of it.
There is quite often a couple of traffic police in place to do the work that a set of traffic lights can no longer manage. I love to watch them whistling, pointing, waggling their white-gloved hands at naughty motorists. And I love to watch the motorists who, much in the way of children playing 'freeze', try and creep through unnoticed everytime the white-hands and whistles turn their backs. But they do a great job, considering the stunts drivers try and pull off even with the traffic police in full view (sometimes you've just got to give them points for sheer inventiveness).

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