The round tables are covered with details from Art Nouveau and impressionist paintings. My first table depicted a Mucha-ian somersaulting woman, her legs caught up in her own flowing hair. I say my first table because I have been moved to another by the server who wanted to open the window-doors, but before I could move back someone sat down in my place, and so I am relegated to a spot a little farther inside, which isn't so bad. The interloper has not only taken my table but my cough as well, though now he has the opportunity to spit out the newly-opened front of the café. When he leaves I will get my seat back, though it's no longer in the sun and the breeze is not so warm. I liked the picture on that table better. The one I have now shows a woman, mouth disproportionately small, pressing a great armload of fruit towards her. Her mouth is only big enough to handle the grapes, I'm afraid, though it seems she is eyeing the bigger fruit hungrily, poor thing.
The cane wicker chairs are laced with white and green backs and seats. The cup and saucer are colorfully painted with flowers and a peacock or bird of paradise standing on a blue branch of a flowerful tree. Powdered sugar was thrust upon me in a square packet, but I was given a glass of water with my espresso.
A bricky technical school sits on the other side of an adjacent side street, and across the main street is the Parc de la Villette with its fountain and oddly useless red metal structures. The sky is quite nice with large puffy clouds interspersed with terrific blue. There is a big black dog roaming around in this place somewhere -- he was barking earlier at someone he knew outside the window.
This is not my table, and it is sticky.
Copyright © 2002 David Sadegh.
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