Des Foules

It was midday. The crowd filled the streets, coming and going, dispersing or conglomerating, circulating or standing still, pouring down the entrances to the métro like a river of bitumen, assaulting the buses like a cloud of locusts; a crowd trading on each other’s toes, digging its elbows into each other’s ribs, spitting into each other’s backs: a grumbling, gloomy, anticfray crowd.

A fine sight for young people.

–Queneau 1936; based on his Paris journal from 1920-1928.

Axé.


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