It is early morning on the Seine, perhaps near SAINT-OUEN-SUR-SEINE. Two young men are sweep rowing, a coxless pair, in a boat. They have a steady, training pace. They pass a stationary boat, with an artist in it, painting the early morning scene. 

Both men are concentrating, pulling hard. Around the neck of one of them, the dark haired man, is a stopwatch. It ticks quickly, and bounces on his chest as he rows. 

Across the bow of the boat, the water parts smoothly making only a soft sound. They pass an imagined finish line, gasping for air. The sounds of their heavy breathing drifted across the river, it’s surface soft in the morning haze. The world around them came back in to focus.

As they drifted to a pier LUCAS said to HENRI.

“Well, our time isn’t much better, but it is better. That is something. We can look forward to the next season. If we manage to pass exams.”

“And can afford to take time to train” gasped HENRI still catching his breath. 

“Yes, we must study, we must work, we are just slaves. When can we find time for a glass and a conversation by the river?”

“Easy for you to say when working, talking and drinking are essential the same thing”

“Oh, Poor Henri! You are getting as serious as Belin and his dusty engineers.” HENRI made a face. Lucas rocked the boat. Then again, more rapidly, and they fell in to the water by the pier. Henri sank, blinking rapidly. His hand grabbed the stopwatch that was floating around his neck. He could hear its ticking, amplified, underwater. He paused momentarily wathcing the underway flowers reflecting down back towards him from the underside of the Aquamirror Reflection. He swam upwards, emerging amongst the lilies that surrounded the pier. Lucas appeared too, laughing. 

“Scientists, not engineers! His glasses would crack if he heard you. And I am not spending a lot of time there at the moment. I am détaché to the police by the CONSERVATOIRE, so I am constantly back and forth along Rue Saint-Martin. Henri swan towards the jetty. "I almost lost the stopwatch, you know!"

In the distants, the was a soft chiming. "Time!" Shouted Lucas, "We'll be late."

“Well, then, let’s move. I have a lecture, and so do you. There’s a tram we can take.” The pair hauled themselves and their boat from the water and doubled-timed it to the nearby hangar à bateaux to dry off and change.

The horse-drawn tram slowly mades its way through the bustling streets of SAINT-OUEN-SUR-SEINE, just north of the center of PARIS. 

The horse-drawn tram slowly mades its way through the bustling streets of SAINT-OUEN-SUR-SEINE, just north of the center of PARIS. HENRI and LUCAS sat side by side, looking out of the tram's window. The atmosphere is alive with the hustle and bustle of the city.

The pair laughed as they bounced along the road towards the main station. Cars drove past them as they commuted with the other workers on their way in to the metropolis. The people swayed back and forth as the horses strained.

“How long can this go on for?” HENRI said. “There should be three horses.”

“It probably died of old age” replied LUCAS. Newspapers rusted and there was the sounds of discontent from the passengers.

They both turn their attention to the TRAM DRIVER (50s, weathered face) who sat on a small elevated seat, expertly guiding the horses.

“Where’s the grey?” Shouted LUCAS.

The TRAM DRIVER leant back to address Henri and Lucas. 

“You know, gents, these old horses are not as spry as they used to be. Lost one of 'em today. Oui, These two know it too. They are in mourning. Only two left now.

HENRI was concerned.

“Oh, that's unfortunate. What happened?”

TRAM DRIVER replied with a with a hint of sadness.

"Old age, I suppose. Horses, like like people,” He gestured to the cemetery they were passing the Cimetière des Batignolles, "they can't escape it. Slowed us down a fair bit today, it did.”

The tram slowed further as it encountered the morning busy-ness of the PORTE DE ST. OUEN. The commuters on the tram were a mix of working and middle class individuals, each lost in their own thoughts or conversations.

One of the passengers, a man in his 40s, read a newspaper with the headline, "Scandal at the museum: Art Protest.” Henri and Lucas exchange curious glances.

Henri lowered his voice slightly 

“Did you see that? "Scandal at the museum." I wonder what that's about.”

Lucas.”Uh, another scandal. It would be a scandal if we didn’t have a scandal. I’ll find out more about it, no doubt when I arrive at The Excelsior.

The tram continued its slow journey through the Parisian  streets. Henri and Lucas disembarked from the tram and make their way towards the METRO STATION, ready to continue their day. Henri picks up the paper left behind on the seat.