Today is the fête du musique in France. Anyone and everyone can make music however and wherever they want. Be it singing from your balcony or an entire symphony in a parking lot.
Every corner, rooftop, and vacant lot is filled with sound. Whether you live in a remote village in the Pyrenees, on a mountain top in the Alpes, or the heart of Paris, tonight there will be music until the wee hours of Solstice.
Suppose you do not sing, play a musical instrument, or belong to a band. In that case, you can listen to others, or bang on lids, or blast your favorite music on loudspeakers, or if you are like me, your running nose can be a tuba, your hacking cough can be a broken hip-hop recording, your watering eyes causing you to wring out your blouse can be disturbing raindrops. Your sneezing can be an opera singer who went mad in an echo chamber.
I caught a cold from Papioca. I am never kissing her again. Never. No way.
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