Most of the tables here have pink tablecloths and happy, effervescent lunch diners. I am in a little section of three tables for people who don't wish to eat anything. The table has a mottled pastel green surface atop a square piece of a wood. My espresso came with a packet of sugar cubes. The ashtray is blue plastic and says "Volcan de poche," among other things. There are lace curtains hanging on the lower part of the windows beside me. The chairs are metal with tan-gray seat cushions. The waitress wears a red handkerchief on her head and has beige bell-bottom pants.
A large Spiderman ad hangs alongside the people eating, and in the upper corner of the room in front of the far windows is what looks like an enlarged black and white photo of someone's sculpted behind. It's an ad for something, though I haven't any clue as to what, and a bit inconsistent with the activity of eating lunch.
A young man with a mohawk came in earlier and in perfect English asked directions to the cemetary. "I'm looking for the grave of Jim Morrison," he said.
Metro: Père Lachaise
Sugar: packet of sugar cubes
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