I always wonder how works like this actually arrive here. What bureaucratic, art-killing processes they have to go through before actually being given the right to exist and allow people like me to write prose like this.
Did some grey dude in a drab office say, ok, this is art, it's not too objectionable, it's vaguely pleasing, so let's do it. Or was it an exclusive committee made of up cognoscenti condoning stuff that was 'ok' for the purpose. Art be damned.
Me likes it. For its existence as much as anything else. I'm glad there's the grey clad dude or the all-knowing cats allowing at least a little bit of creativity to spill out onto the edges of the city. And the Seine has some of the colourfullest edges of all. Shine on the Seine!
And why not...