It’s 12:15 pm in Paris.
Outside in the narrow street, you can hear the clicking sound that a pair of high heels makes on the beautiful stone pavement.
Click, clack. Click, clack. Click, clack.
Down the alley goes a French girl in her late thirties. Slim, sexy and petite, her short dress fits her perfectly – with none of the usual embarrassing fat hanging everywhere.
Behind her walks a handsome man that looks like he’s in his 30s but he’s really in his late 40s or early 50s, judging by his short salt and pepper hair.
His fitted black shirt clearly reveals a toned, muscular body, free of any of the usual beer belly, love handles and man boobs you would sadly expect from any American man at that age.
They both enter a small café to indulge in their favorite lunchtime foods after skipping “breakfast”.