Éloïse strolled up the steep alleys of Montmartre with a latte macchiato in hand. The sun was shining, the artists were eagerly painting portraits, and everywhere was that typical scent of freshly baked baguette in the air. Perfect for a relaxed morning in Paris – at least she thought so.
But fate had other plans. Just as she was admiring a stall with handmade jewelry, she suddenly felt her foot slip on something wet. A soft “splash” – and her white pair of sneakers was no longer quite so white. “Damn!”, Éloïse cursed as she looked up and spotted the culprit: a fresh pile of pigeon droppings, right in the middle of the sidewalk.
“Great,” she muttered as she bent down to scrape off at least the biggest dirt from the sole. In doing so, she almost bumped into someone – a young man who was crouched next to a disassembled scooter, working on its engine.
“Oh, sorry!” Éloïse said hastily and looked up. The man looked up, his brown eyes flashing with surprise as he looked at her. “No problem,” he replied with a smile. “I’d rather know how to fix this crap here too.” He pointed to his scooter, which looked more like a puzzle than a vehicle.
Éloïse laughed despite the mishap. “By the way, my name is Éloïse,” she introduced herself.
“Théo,” he replied, extending his hand, which she shook. “You’ve just experienced the classic Montmartre pigeon surprise attack.”
Just as Éloïse was about to say something, her gaze fell on the small café opposite. The terrace was full, but at one of the few free tables stood two steaming cups of coffee and a tempting croissant. “Oh, over there – the table!” she said, pointing at it.
At the same time, Théo jumped up. “I wanted to take that one too!” he shouted and hurried off.
Éloïse was faster, or at least she thought so, but when she reached the table, Théo suddenly stood in front of her and also reached for the chair. “Hey, I was here first!” she said, trying to secure the chair.
“Oh come on, let’s just share it!” Théo suggested, but Éloïse wasn’t sure if he really meant it or just wanted to buy time.
At that moment, Marceau, a somewhat chaotic-looking young man with tousled hair, stumbled out of the café and shouted, “Wait! I have the key for the scooter!” as he ran toward them.
Éloïse and Théo looked at each other, then back at Marceau. The situation suddenly became even more complicated – and right at that moment Éloïse landed on the ground with a loud “Ouch!”. Her gaze fell to the ground – and yes, again on another pile of pigeon droppings.
“Oh no, not again!” she whined as Théo offered her his hand. “Welcome to Montmartre,” he grinned.
But before they could get up, they heard the screeching sound of a scooter that seemed to be out of control – heading straight toward them.
“Watch out!” Théo shouted and pulled Éloïse to the side. The scooter sped just past them – and finally crashed loudly against a streetlamp.
“Great,” Marceau said out of breath, “I think we just unleashed chaos.”
Éloïse looked at Théo, who was now half laughing, half annoyed, looking at the scooter. “This is going to be an interesting day,” she murmured.
And somewhere in the distance, a pigeon croaked as if to celebrate it all over again.