I took the number 46 bus from Gare du Nord and got
off at Porte Dorée.
It looked the same, smelled the same as it did when I used to live in a little
attic apartment on Place Eduard Renard. Big, wide intersection, McDonalds on
one corner, Burger King on another and Café les Cascades on another. I took my
usual seat in the café looking right across at Hôtel Porte Dorée and ordered a whiskey. It was
almost six o’clock. Whiskey’s more of a nine o’clock drink. Two elderly ladies
came along propping each other up as they walked slowly along Avenue
Poniatowski. They took the table next to mine. When they both ordered a Kir Royal
I recognised them as the two ladies who always used to take an aperitif there
at 6 pm and it was always a Kir Royal. The colour of the drink matched the
shade of their hair, and even more so now that they were older. The dog one of
them used to carry in her back was not in the bag. It must have died.Monday, 7 October 2019
Kir Royal.
I took the number 46 bus from Gare du Nord and got
off at Porte Dorée.
It looked the same, smelled the same as it did when I used to live in a little
attic apartment on Place Eduard Renard. Big, wide intersection, McDonalds on
one corner, Burger King on another and Café les Cascades on another. I took my
usual seat in the café looking right across at Hôtel Porte Dorée and ordered a whiskey. It was
almost six o’clock. Whiskey’s more of a nine o’clock drink. Two elderly ladies
came along propping each other up as they walked slowly along Avenue
Poniatowski. They took the table next to mine. When they both ordered a Kir Royal
I recognised them as the two ladies who always used to take an aperitif there
at 6 pm and it was always a Kir Royal. The colour of the drink matched the
shade of their hair, and even more so now that they were older. The dog one of
them used to carry in her back was not in the bag. It must have died.
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