There are a lot of cemeteries in Paris but one of the biggest is Père Lachaise. That's where I went and it appeared to be almost as small town with its city hall, main squeare, the old districts of winding streets, new ‘buildings’ in mathematically smooth lines... and a lot of tourists. In the depths of twisting paths again and again one could hear baby cries and even the roar of suitcase wheels on the stone pavement.
But these visitors came for noting because the owners were not at home. And who will be sitting at home when over the gate there is sunny ringing Paris. Residents of the dead city went for a walk along Avenue des Champs-Élysées and drink coffee among iron frames of Eiffel Tower.
There is no time for them to be bored and pine. They dance to the music of scarlet mill, overhear secrets of Montmartre srtists and then retell them to the stone gargoyles.
And only alive walk among the shadows of stone houses looking for something instead of having fun with all of Paris.
Have a good day, MarrySav!)
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