At A Paris Café A Online Story By Evy Journey

Mid-August, 1972. I stumbled out of the cool, light-modulated bowels of the Louvre into natural sunlight. A blistering, muggy afternoon sunlight that I would not wish for, even on the coldest day of winter. But … I was in Paris. I walked towards a café I passed on my way to the museum that morning. As soon as I saw it, I knew I had to go there. It was exactly what I imagined a Parisian café would look: Red awning jutting out to the street; tables outside within a territory marked by a chain and iron bars a foot from the sidewalk; people lingering over small cups of espresso, looking bored, a... Click Here To Read More