Trbuh Pariza

At the bridge of Neuillv, bushels of cabbage and bushels of peas joined eight carts of turnips and carrots, coming from Nanterre; the horses walked alone, with their heads down, with a durable and sluggish gait that was slowed down by the uphill. Above, on the load of vegetables, the drivers were dozing with the reins in their hands, stretched out on their stomachs, covered with black and gray striped raincoats. On the way out of the darkness, the gas lamp would illuminate the shoe nails, the blue sleeve of the blouse, the top of the hat, which could be seen among the huge red bundles of carrots, white bundles of turnips, the lush green of peas and cabbage. And on the neighboring roads, the distant clatter of cars announced similar transports; the whole tumult that cut through the darkness and sound sleep at two o'clock in the morning and lulled the black city to the clatter of food as it passed by.