Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

The two gargoyles were still worrying about their smartphones, and they were feeling rather hard done by now, as they continued to peer around those dreadful bones and skulls in the catacombs, although the two of them giggled a bit about the time when they would hold an excellent flag known as a Jolly Roger, since they had pretended to be a couple of pirates at the top of a tall steeple at that time.

Meanwhile, Joan had been hammering home a point about what we were supposed to be doing now, since her husband, Francis, had been talking so much stuff he knew to tell it to The Old One, while he, The Old One, had been a bit bamboozled about all of that by now.

“Well, we are women, aren’t we,” grinned Scatty, “and we are headstrong – very much so,” as the red-headed woman smiled, “there’s no pussyfooting around in our group,” as Scatty turned into her black panther for a bit.

“All right,” said Francis, “we are almost there,’ as he looked around everyone, including those two gargoyles, “it’s going to be good… trust me.”

So off they went, and rather quickly, since almost all of them were pretty hungry by now, and also some of them were almost gasping for wine.

And what a wonderful place it was; “see, it had been restored, there was a very tall cinema, a fully stocked bar, and a complete restaurant with tables and chairs, and only for us,” smiled Francis.

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