It is mid-afternoon and a cold rain is drizzling from a cloudless gray sky. It collects on either side of the street and trickles down slowly until it reaches a drain cut jaggedly into the edge of the sidewalk and disappears into the blackness. The many cracks in the worn sidewalk collect small pools that reflect the drab, unlit shops. The expanding ringlets from rain drops that disturb the pools break up the sharp vertical and horizontal lines of the monotonous architecture. A well worn leather boot steps in one of these puddles with a dull splashing sound. The owner of this boot is a tall, slender man in his mid 40's. Dark eyes peer out from under a black felt hat with a feather protruding from it's side. A thick graying beard and moustache adorn gaunt cheeks. He blows out a long, white, misty breath that stands out from a black rain soaked trench coat that covers a hunched frame with hands thrust deep into both pockets. His expression is concentrated and meditative and he looks up now and then at the street signs until he reaches the Place St. Michel. A tan and dark green cafe stands out from it's gloomy, mundane surroundings. Entering the cafe, he finds a seat in the corner and hangs his wet coat and hat over one of the many wooden pegs. The room is brightly colored and well lit. A few old black and white photographs hang on clean, pastel papered walls. A red haired waitress takes his order of rum St. James with a smile and walks off to serve another of the few customers.

        Taking a notebook and pencil out of his coat pocket he begins writing in a quick, flowing hand. His hand covers the entire pencil and it almost appears as if the dark wavy lines are coming directly out of his finger tip. His eyes are in deep thought and remain fixated at the point where the tip of his pen and paper meet. Music catches his attention and he looks up to see an old black man on the other side of the cafe playing a guitar on a tall stool with his back against the wall. His eyes are covered by the brim of a taxi drivers hat and he is slumped over the guitar in a way that makes it appear to be a part of his body. His gnarled fingers pick at the nylon strings as his foot with heel on stool rung taps in the air.

        Smiling faintly he watches for a few more seconds and then continues to write. The rum St. James arrives and he holds the glass mug in both hands and with elbows resting on table, brings it to his chapped lips. The sound of the wind gusting through the door catches his attention and his eyes fall on a woman who walks in. She removes her hat to reveal jet black hair done up in a neat bun. She has delicate features: full red lips; pretty brown eyes under thin eyebrows and a smooth, square forehead with milky skin. She is wearing a long dark purple dress with a white collar and her gloved hands both clasp a small, black leather purse. She finds a seat next to the window and without even a glance at the interior or it's inhabitants, she sits down and watches the street outside. Laying the mug gently down, the man continues to stare at the back of the woman's head for a moment but his eyes are unfocused and distant. He then begins writing again with a more inspired look in his eyes. His hand starts gliding across the page at a much faster, feverish pace.

        The light gets darker outside and two more empty mugs are on the table. He is sharpening his pencil with a small, blue pencil sharpener. The curled shavings fall to the top of a small pile in one of the empty mugs. He looks up and notices that the booth is empty where the woman was once sitting. He looks down and continues to write a few more lines. Dotting a period at the end of a sentence with a final jerky movement, he looks up again and she is turned around in the seat smiling at him. "What do you say we leave?" he asks her. "I think it would be wonderful, Tatie," she replies. He stands up and puts on his hat and coat. Reaching deep into the pocket of his worn pants, he pulls out a filthy bill and a couple black coins and places them gingerly on the table. He then walks over to her and offers his arm which she gladly accepts. Still smiling she nestles against him and they walk slowly out of the bright cafe.

       He steps out into the dark street alone and the smile fades from his face. The rain is pouring down hard and he quickly fastens up the very top button of his coat. Thrusting his hands deep into his pockets he hunches over and coughs. White breath shoots out of his mouth and quickly dissipates. He walks down the street the way he came and is swallowed up in it's darknes

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