This afternoon, I went for a coffee-shop at the Bistrot Tobacco-pmu. I have a tenderness that I have trouble understanding for this kind of establishment. This is absolutely not nostalgia because this is what is most modern: there are the faux marble plastic raised last year TVs fingering the results of games, third and others, radio, neon yellow and blue plastic tables, the regulars. These same
regulars, numbering three or four, I was impressed this afternoon when I went for my coffee. The conversation was not very lively, if not nonexistent, no one spoke or Sarko, or banning smoking in bars, no, no one spoke. This silence brought home a kind of lethargy, they were simply there, leaning on the counter, and waited. Radio, Radio Nostalgie certainly, providing its nostalgic titles ( Yet the mountain is beautiful, Kazatchok , etc.). Then we heard Brel's "Tonight I'm waiting ..." and when he would sing "Madeleine, all of our regulars, as one man, raised his head, said "Madeleine" and then were lowered.
I was facing, I had not seen them open their mouths for at least ten minutes, and they have not open rather than later. C ' is beautiful, right? Brel is alive, I saw him this afternoon.
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