l'homme nerveux

You can always tell who are the tourists on the metro: those grey-suited businessmen nervously clutching their fanny packs, glancing suspiciously at the other occupants of the car. They never can anticipate the jerks of the train, and they make uncomfortable faces when they inevitably tumble onto the people they previously expected to pick-pocket them, and they check their fancy American watches every minute or so to make sure they're not running behind - to make sure the metro isn't running behind.

But then, that's how we all started out, I suppose. I remember holding tight to my zippered backpack, glaring at anyone who got too close. I suppose the man could have been starting a new job, a new life, in Paris, and was in the first stages of the adjustment period.

And then he got off at Trocadéro. Clearly a tourist.