Carriages stroll in the wet avenues of Paris. The horseshoes smack the pavement and resonate across the city. Coachmen bawl to  passers-by who fearlessly walk in between the cars. “You better watch-out! Next time I won’t be so clement!” to which the imperturbable Parisian replies by slightly turning his head and continuing his journey.

That is Paris Romance

A cigarette in one hand, a borsalino on his head, and the morning’s newspaper under one arm, the man hops on the curb. He walks fast, ignoring the shouts and running into the crowd. He takes a look at his watch and realizes with astonishment that he has a few minutes to spare before getting to work. He will be sitting all day at his desk at the bank, rudely advising other rude Parisians how to place their money.

That is Paris Romance

The man, wearing a grey costume and a navy overcoat, spots a table at a terrace café, and while setting his newspaper on the table he assertively hails a server, “Garçon!” and orders himself a coffee.
He sips swiftly from the small cup, glances rapidly to the big titles on the first page of his newspaper, and briskly looks back at his watch.
He jumps up from his chair, dips his hand into his trouser pocket, takes out a couple of coins which he throws on the saucer and leaves hastily, running into several Parisians on their way to work.

That is Paris Romance

Listen while reading: C’est la romance de Paris by Charles Trenet