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9:22 a.m., rue Saint Honoré

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Just walked by two thirtysomething-year-old French dudes, both in double-breasted jackets, and both obviously having been out all night. One looking like a young Paul McCartney in a full beard with Wayfarers and a trim-fitting navy mohair DB blazer and jeans; the other in a slim, plaid DB suit, short-cropped pants, no socks and sneakers, jacket slung over the shoulder of his unbuttoned, rumpled white dress shirt. Now, I realize that we all look a lot cooler the morning after, but I'm betting these guys looked pretty cool the night before too.—a.r.

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