An unobtrusive dance beat is playing. A family is sitting in the other side of this otherwise empty café, eating breakfast, one of their children running about the place with a pacifier in its mouth. A man with a mustache stands behind the bar. It is his place apparently and he tells the child to be careful. The little boy's older sister is now running about as well, a pacifier in her mouth too. People walk by on the street, serious, clutching baguettes, determined to get home before rain starts falling.

I got a chocolate covered almond with my coffee, but my sugar is granulated in a tube. The ashtray is metal and looks like a small doggie dish. The tables and chairs are nice, wooden; the reddish chair backs are a lot more reddish than the tables and are perforated with a celtic floral design. Long, tasteful, red and yellow lamp shades hang from the ceiling, and there are a few framed black and white photo posters hung on the walls. The music now sounds more like soft jazz, and a woman sings "oooooh" as a flute plays and drums beat. A basket of rapidly aging croissants sits on the bar, and the family leaves and another family arrives.