Number the Eiffels by Rebecca
The Sun's rays were glinting against my skin as we basked in the March air near the Eiffel Tower. I could smell fresh-made crepes and sizzling treats frying. The rich and creamy taste of my own delicious nutella and banana delicacy melted in my mouth.
Jingling my new Eiffel Tower key chains, I thought about what just happened.
Let me start from the beginning…
"How about that one?" I ask, pointing at an African-French man. My father jabs my finger to the floor, "It's rude to point." he huffs in my now cloudy ear. Oopsie!!
When he nods his head, his gray(mostly gray) and black hair blend together like two colors of noodles mixing into each other.
We scamper towards him, his name, Jahmi. "5 for 1 euro!" he's shouting. My dad tries to bargain, even though the price is already really great. He succeeds, making it 6 Eiffel Tower key chains for a euro. Impressive!!
I start to choose my assortment of colors. The first one is a beautiful bright, hot pink, the next, a tender grass green, then a blue the color of the sky, teal, green-blue, and last of all, a violet lilac.
Just as Jahmi takes a golden sunlight yellow off of his huge chain for me -- that's carrying all the other chains-- he jerks his head up. In surprise, my bewildered face glances up and follows his gaze.
In perfect unison, 3 police on bikes are headed straight towards us. I smell their merciless revenge. Jahmi, and all of the other African-French that are scattered around, start to sprint away. At least 1000 sounds of clanking and key chains swarm in the air like bees making music.
I stare at the 5 beautiful Eiffels - the golden sunlight beams off of them like lasers - and then back at Jahmi and his group. Feeling the smooth metal o the ridged edges and then looking back up. The chase continues rapidly so I keep my eyes glued.
"Well Becca, I guess you got five for FREE!" My dad says with a grin coming from ear to ear. It's then that I realize: Dad never payed for the key chains. Jahmi never gave me my 6th key chain either.
"They're not really supposed to do that", a sudden female voice behind us makes me whip my smooth black hair around. "Hi, I'm Kailey, this is John", she says motioning towards a man next to her, "and this is little Daniel." I suppose that he's her son.
"Because you have to pay taxes when you sell things, they get caught if they don't pay the money." Kailey explains.
After she and her family left, we begin to find a creamy white taxi.
A few minutes (or hours) later…
We are taking a nice stroll and see a police car ("Popo" as my dad calls them). There's an African-French in cuffs with them.
Moral: If you do what you're not supposed to, and you know not to, you'll pay for it sooner or later!
Dun, dun, duuuun.