Because pirates wear orange pants, they do.

With Flame-Haired Angel away and the autumn sunshine taunting, it's been a perfect day to get out on the rollerblades. Jean-Francois and I joined a smallish crowd, probably 1000 skaters, to suicide dash the streets of Paris with a police escort. It's an every-Sunday event in Paris, but I haven't been for a few months, and my buns need it. The French roller-cops still impress me. There's just something about a fit policeman zooming by you on skates with a gun strapped on. I guess they feel pretty sure that that thing won't go off if they go ass-over-teakettle and land on it. Surer than I am, I'm guessing. Lovely day for it. Nice and cool. Unfortunately, I took the knee out of a favorite pair of bright orange pants. Or, rather, the road did. Good spot for a pirate patch, though. Arrrr. ..