Night-Scented

Franck led Michel across the esplanade, heading south and then west into the rue Saint Dominique. He pushed open the door of the first street-corner café they came across and ushered Michel through. With its scrubbed tables, painstakingly swept floor and clients outfitted in variants of the same strictly prescribed casual Sunday fashions, the place had all the charm of a church hall packed with sanctimonious parishioners.