Paris in November

Photo by C.E.Ayr

Richaud picked his way down the stairs. Breakfast was included in the pension, and despite her many failings, Madame Flir made acceptable coffee.

The stairwell stank of cabbage. Richaud lit a Gauloises  to negate this everyday irritation.

He settled into the chair as Madame Flir set down the bowl of coffee and pitcher of hot milk.

“Where’s my brioche?”Richaud demanded.

“The Boulangerie is closed up,” said Madame. “Because of last night. The terrorists.”

“What are you talking about?”  Richaud was fairly deaf, so most things needed repeating.

“Go out and see,” she sighed, weary. “The entire arrondissement is roped off.”


Friday Fictioneers


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  1. Courtney Wright

    Seems several are referring to the tragedy of last week in their stories. Ignorance truly can be bliss…. I wish I didn’t know what was going on sometimes. :-/
    Your story is well written…

  2. paulmclem

    Very topical and poignant. Good one. A nitpicking query, do people really drink coffee out of a bowl? Did you choose that word for a reason ahead of something like “mug”?

  3. kirizar

    Interesting, and very timely, interpretation of the photo. I was struck by the use of the word ‘bowl’ as well. Now I will picture French people drinking vats of coffee from soup bowls with a spoon.

  4. The Voice

    A nice nod to the recent tragedy. Your style is so captivating I feel like I don’t even care if I reach the climax of the story. I just want to immerse myself into your fictional world. Another story well told.

  5. gahlearner

    It makes perfect sense, not everyone is glued to the news or stares at mobiles all the time. When you go to bed early and then wake up to such news… the every-day setting makes it even more frightening. Great writing.

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