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17.12.00: Café d'Orléans, avenue du Général Leclerc / rue du Coüédic This may be what they do (although without the same sense of desperation I probably felt): at the end of a slow Sunday, mosey on down to whatever the nearest café is, and read, write, rail, or whatever. I probably have my Crime and Punishment in hand, but rather than read I make another stab at dealing with some of this Oriana business, in Yiddish of course. Maybe it's the deep purple colour scheme of the place, or the insanely loud video poker machines, or les mecs at the bar, but my local is far from a place of solitude and contemplation.
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