An elegant antique shop around the corner. That never seems to be open. Or maybe when it sees me coming it hides the key. The big picture windows tell a story of the things inside.
Only a story since I cannot get inside.
A box outside a restaurant held empty champagne bottles.
It was only eleven in the morning.
Mimosa… memories of 1925 Ritz Carlton.
My friend Denise is back from Canada. We went to Paris for the weekend. We went in search of a Croque Monsieur.
Montmarte side street.
The best Croque Madame (toss in a egg, and I requested sans jambon.) Delicious. I am dreaming of it still. Simple fare, utterly delicious. It made up for the antique store that is never opened.
Once home I realized that I had not taken the receipt nor a business card. Denise and I might have to take another trek back to Montmarte… Saint Pierre is calling us too.
Close to where our apartment is in Paris there is a bookstore that tempts ones level of frustration to soar. One must have patience when asking Leo, for a book and courage to walk down the narrow canyon book wall.
Leo has had his bookstore for over thirty years, speaks English and can tell you in a flash if he has the book you are looking for. His collection reaches to the ceiling, and has one narrow path leading in.
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Feels like finding a needle in a haystack.
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