Comfortable. Maroon cushioned chairs at relatively large square rounded-edge tables spaced far enough apart and adjacent to windows. Perfect. Sugar cubes with the coffee in cup and saucer painted with flowers. Lots of wood, good lighting. Everything one could want in a café except the view is not so interesting. A smallish intersection, a large white van parked on the other side of the street running along the windows to my right.

At one point a waiter moves the table to my left and tells me to watch out as the floor opens up and an elevator pops out to receive a delivery. The tables around me are being set now for lunch with a large square corrugated white paper mat and a red paper napkin in front of each chair. An old woman walks her black dachsund into the place and is greeted with various bonjours. The sun fights overlapping clouds and occasionally breaks through, though always somewhat obscured. I don't hear any music. The ceiling looks like a giant odd-shaped crème brûlée.