The kenspeckle sign board in a somewhat oddly large frame perched shakily at the entrance of the café obscured by the flailing branches of an old chestnut tree. From five blocks away she could see some of the paint had been washed out. She wondered if it had been there long enough or if it was some local painter’s last shoddy job before his makeshift workshop was abruptly closed down. Occasionally, she would hear the hungry purring of the cat who refused to leave the empty sidewalk once adorned by miniature water impressions by the city’s struggling artists.
If it weren’t for the pyramidical mount of resolute steel rising above the copious grey skyline or the rain mercilessly pounding what was left of the fragile earth, she wouldn’t have believed she was in Paris. Some days, she felt it weren’t the teenagers, lips awkwardly locked as far as public intimacy would allow , on Pont des Arts or couples feeling up their gnarled bodies on a cramped ride on the Seine, rather it was the showers that lent the city its timeless magic.
If it weren’t for the pyramidical mount of resolute steel rising above the copious grey skyline or the rain mercilessly pounding what was left of the fragile earth, she wouldn’t have believed she was in Paris. Some days, she felt it weren’t the teenagers, lips awkwardly locked as far as public intimacy would allow , on Pont des Arts or couples feeling up their gnarled bodies on a cramped ride on the Seine, rather it was the showers that lent the city its timeless magic.
She stepped out, would the air drift of Jean’s chocolate mushed croissants dolloped with a generous amount of butter? No one wished her a boisterous ‘Bonjour’ as she passed by the old baker known for his remarkable talent for fitting crisp baguettes in to thin take away bags. Was the solo busker who gratuitously drew afternoon hordes of hustling Parisians for his experimental renditions of international hits, all along, a fantasy? She trotted down the forbidden path, an annoyed cyclist, instead of the warning bell, would remind her where she was. A marked up map of her favorite landmarks beetled from her half folded hands, perhaps someone was lost in one of the city's many boot cut alleys?
The tables, cigarette stubs wedged in its cracks, were rolled upside down, almost blocking the cafés entrance. Would frivolous tourists pour in now that there were no locals with cacophonous French to deter them? Would it fade away in to the dozens where coffee was not about history, art or culture, but just another item on the menu.
She peeked through the dusty window for the lone table with a single red and black chair characteristic of classic Parisian decor, wondering if she would ever see that man who sat there every evening reading. Had he noticed that she had been there too, every day at the precise time, and while she dug in to the cinnamon laced pumpkin cake, she had watched how he poured over those frayed pages of an English classic, his brows gradually ascending, when he was amused or intrigued. Would the newbie server without being reminded, serve his loyal customer his cafe creme instead of the espresso shots that he regularly doled out. After all, in a place where the man couldn't have been more of a stranger, would be have chosen to stay?
She peeked through the dusty window for the lone table with a single red and black chair characteristic of classic Parisian decor, wondering if she would ever see that man who sat there every evening reading. Had he noticed that she had been there too, every day at the precise time, and while she dug in to the cinnamon laced pumpkin cake, she had watched how he poured over those frayed pages of an English classic, his brows gradually ascending, when he was amused or intrigued. Would the newbie server without being reminded, serve his loyal customer his cafe creme instead of the espresso shots that he regularly doled out. After all, in a place where the man couldn't have been more of a stranger, would be have chosen to stay?
The signage despite a few missing alphabets seemed to tell a different tale. Amidst the new found silence that the city had irrevocably inherited, she heard a loud cheep.
The café had found a new patron.
The café had found a new patron.
