In a city where all things leisure are considered precious and paramount, there is and underground - literally. The Paris Metro is notorious for it's smell of urine, for it's filth and clochards and for the people who litter it pushing and shoving to and from their destinations.
There is a face we keep when riding, but what else is there? For most the Metro is a place to capture on last minute of solitude before re-emerging street level to our lives. Some of us read, some of us listen to music or watch films on screens 5cm squared and still others give into their bodies tired desire and sleep.
For a people known for their cold, nonchalant exterior there is something tender and personal about it. Some times it is an act of sadness. It is an act of necessity. It is the ultimate act of vulnerability.
What a strange place to choose to let your guard down. What a brief moment of respite stolen in the cold of winter, from the heat of summer, in the space of just one and a half minutes between the stops...
JULIET PENNAY is an American Artist and Writer, currently living in Paris, France.