Chapter 9 part one came to paris

When I was twelve, my mother asked me to come to Paris.It wasn't so that I could get a good education, but because I had to learn to be a typesetter.For this, I had to roughly learn to spell. Mother has been doing this job since she was young.She married a man named Gaston in Paris, who was the director of the workshop. I was sent to a primary school on Fujilar Road for a year.I must not look very bright, and the female teacher arranged for me to sit with seven or eight-year-old children.At the end of the year, I had learned no more than I had when I entered: arithmetic and geography, I knew nothing of.

As for French history, it's not that I don't like it. When the teacher talked about Turan, Comte and Napoleon, I listened with gusto! There is only one man, whom I can never forgive, and that is Charlemagne.I still remember that it was he who came up with a bad idea: start a school! At the age of thirteen and one day, the day came to earn his own bread!I was placed in a bookbinding workshop.In the beginning, my job was to deliver goods.There's really no need for me to learn to spell if it's just for the job! I have to carry a heavy load like a donkey.I had on a pleated faux-satin smock with a belt around the waist, and a pair of stunning boots with buckles, that pretty yellow buckle, and gray woolen shafts!I'm still so skinny that I can fit both ankles in one boot, more than enough.So the Press and the Red Cap—two newspapers at the time—joined to help me out!One newspaper was tucked around the ankle and the other was tucked over the toe of the bootie to keep it as wrinkle-free as possible.Because the boots are at least a size forty!Of course I looked strange, but I straightened my back.At that time, the only ones who wore these boots were the kind of women who were raised by others.

My mother picked these boots out of a trash can.The woman who threw the boots was in her forties, a real military policeman with tits and ass!I think, if she was like this, and she came back to this world, no one would believe that there was a man who spent a lot of money on her. At that time, a handsome man with a beautiful beard on his mouth and hair on his belly! Anyway, when I was thirteen, my heart beat so fast whenever I saw a man with a Lavalier tie and a nice beard!I'd think he's handsome, and if he's got a big belly on top of that, then I'd adore him!Surely he could only be a poet, a painter, or a dramatist.Apart from these three professions, I don't want to see any other ordinary people!