The place is empty now. There were five or ten people when I showed up, but they have all left. The youngish, short-haired bartender is organizing the beer glasses, clinking them around. Earlier, a young Asian couple entered the place and asked if a wallet had been found. Seems they were sitting in here before I came along, close to where I'm sitting now. But there is no wallet to be found, and the consensus is that they must have lost it in the street somewhere.
A guy with a red backpack walks in and orders a coffee. Then an old man comes out of the kitchen and starts looking through cabinets behind the bar. A couple of men come into the café, one of them letting out a loud sigh while making exaggerated shaking movements. "It's cold?," asks the cabinet-looker, emerging from behind the bar to sit on a stool and chat. "No, it's raining!" is the response.
The radio is playing easy-listening pop, in French and English. My espresso was served with a packet of sugar cubes. I'm sitting on a small brown-cushioned couch across from a metal frame chair with the same color brown seat and back cushions. The tabletop is square, fake wood -- I had to pull it out in order to sit on the side next to the wall. Now someone on the radio is singing, "I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I am ca-a-a-a-a-a-a-lling yo-o-o-ou."
Metro: Pierre Curie
Sugar: packet of sugar cubes
Copyright © 2002 David Sadegh.
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