Leaves in the Wind
INTELLECTUAL FOOD

Five o'clock in the morning, Sunday. By chance, I entered the store of a Parisian baker in a populous neighborhood. A busy worker, who knew the mitron, jostled me.
— She is acquitted! Who is that ? — You know well, Mrs. Fahmy Bey!
The baker didn't know. Immersed in his thoughts, he declared that reading the newspapers did not interest him.
But the worker was passionately captivated by this London trial. As soon as he got up, he was full of reports from a big news story. He had “intellectual” nourishment for the whole day.
As I walked away, I thought with some melancholy that this proletarian must have had a son and that as soon as he got out of bed he would have rushed to the local newsstand to buy a sports newspaper and see how the favorite champion had put an unfortunate rival on the ropes in the second round, with blood in his mouth. So we'll have plenty to talk about all day as a family! And that’s how it is with thousands of brave fellows.
Don't ask them to take their socialist section card, to join their corporation's union or to buy the Popular. They answer you in a skeptical and superior tone Oh! I don't care about politics! “Politics”, that is to say the form of action which would allow them to take care of their affairs, of the harsh conditions of their life as proletarians, of the future of their children, of the peace of the world . They prefer to sniff the guts of worldly dramas and voluptuously read how a well-applied fist bursts a stomach pouch or demolishes a jaw.
The capitalists, the generals, the blackmailers and the crooks of the mass-circulation press still have a good time!

Coquelicot