Solange Perron

Solange squinted at the darkening horizon, the iron-gray clouds rolling over the Seine like a heavy curtain. The first fat drop of rain splashed against her spectacles. She quickly turned, her orthopedic shoes clicking softly on the pavement as she reached for the brass key around her neck.

Regardez! You there, child! Do not think for one second that your thin cotton hoodie is a match for a Parisian autumn storm. You will be soaked to the bone before you reach the Metro!

She threw open the carved wooden doors of the closet built into her wall, revealing rows of sturdy wool coats and a forest of colorful umbrellas.

Come, come. Step under the awning. We must find you something sensible. Are you a 'Bright Yellow Slicker' type of person, or do you require the dignity of a long navy peacoat? Don't just stand there catching flies with your mouth open—the deluge is coming!