Suicide Doors
I didn’t see much of Paris on our way to Mont Saint Michel, only a glimpse of the Eiffel Tower.
We are 2 kilometers away from the tower. I am so proud of this shot. You don’t see stuff like this on a postcard. When it got darker, I saw the strobe light on top of it move around.
But I did get up a few minutes before midnight and glance out the window. I was just in time to see a blue pickup truck park on the sidewalk below me. It was the first and only small pickup truck I saw the whole time I was in France. He parked with two left tires up on the sidewalk. After a moment, four men poured out of the truck in one fluid motion, like a choreographed dance move.
I was surprised to see the guy in the back open a suicide door. I have never seen suicide doors in person, especially on an average-looking pickup truck. As he climbed onto the sidewalk, an empty bottle fell out of his pocket. He didn’t pick it up, just kept going. All four were wearing jeans and jean jackets. They walked across the street to an enormous underground parking garage without saying a word.
They moved with dark intent. In French hotel rooms the windows open which is how I know they were completely silent. They melted into the dark gray concrete labyrinth. I thought how grim it would be to meet them in there. Maybe I witnessed the commencement of a violent criminal act.
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