Boss and Jazz

In the St Germain area in Paris there has been a jazz festival going on the past week. Tonight was the last night and a lot of the concerts where free. Me and my friends decided to go to one of them. My friend Leigh arranged which concert to attend and she gave us all the info. It said, in perfect Franglais:
Jazz Festival at St Germain des Prés, concert à la Boutique Boss, from 17h-19h, and then the address. I didn't recognise the name of the place but then again, there are ever so many clubs and bars in Paris, you'd count yourself lucky to know even a handfull of them.

I was the English contact for people to call if they wanted to join and to find out where it was. And people called, throughout the Saturday, and I told them, 'yeah the concert is at the jazz club called à la Boutique Boss, it's gonna be cool.'
The address told the place was in the big boulevard, so it should be pretty easy to find, I thought. Number 168. I counted the numbers on the buildings as I walked down the road. 119, 121, 123, hang on. I need to cross the street. Crossing it, I looked at the row of buildings on the other side and couldn't spot a single club.
Approaching the place, I realised I was having one of my - and I am proud to admit very rare - blond moments, as I soon understood the jazz club wasn't called à la Boutique Boss. In fact, it wasn't a jazz club at all. It was a Boss shop. It was a shop.
Lights went on!

That is parisian life for you. We find it the most natural thing in the world to throw a jazz concert in the middle of a posh Hugo Boss shop, in between rows of incredibly expensive (and gorgeous) suits and rather grumpy salespeople. Into the sleek shop scrambled parisian outlaws, John Doe's and neighbours, parents, children, couple, tourists, students and lovers, ready to listen to some free and hopefully quality jazz on a Saturday night in the oh-so intellectual Latin Quarter.

And quality music it was. Three black men looking more American than French made every foot and every head in the room jingle and wiggle along to the rhythms of the instruments. I looked around and noticed how everyone just seemed to float along with the music, wearing a silly smile and a dreamy look. I smiled at their funniness, then I realised that my foot was tapping too. It's all that jazz. It just gets in your blood. Even in a Hugo Boss shop.