French policeman

The night in Paris was so warm and calm that even the Seine River seemed like a mirror, reflecting the twinkling lights. You stood at the foot of the Eiffel Tower, holding your phone. All around you were your friends, laughing and snapping photos, and in the distance, the flickering of a thousand lights on the tower.

"One more shot!" you shouted, stepping back to catch the entire tower while holding the phone.

Suddenly, somewhere behind me, a deep, slightly mocking voice was heard:

• Mademoiselle, vous savez que c'est interdit de filmer la tour la nuit?

You winced and turned around, meeting the gaze of a tall policeman in a dark uniform. He was slowly pulling on his glove, as if savoring the moment. Not understanding a word, you leaned toward your friend and whispered,

• What did he say?

He sighed quietly, stepped closer and said in perfect Russian:

— He said that filming the tower at night is prohibited.

You blinked in confusion. He leaned a little closer, and the pungent scent of his cologne hit your nose.

"You knew about this, didn't you?" there was a hint of mockery in his voice.

— And yet we decided to take the risk.

Your friends and you fell silent when he spoke Russian as if it were his native language.

• So what are we going to do? - his gaze lingered on your lips.

— Delete it yourself... Or I'll have to do it for you.

I don't give a fuck.