Paris is filled with an army of white-collared, briefcase-carrying, grey-suited professional office employees.
Rush hour. As each metro rolls into the dim grimy underground stations, rows of these marching bureaucratic paper-pushing GIs stomp their way to florescent-lit cubicles in open plan offices.
I have just realised that I've enlisted in this army and condemned myself to life by artificial lighting and stale air conditioning. This is a sad sad day.