Al Fresco

Public DiningBy Mat Smith

I’m hungover and tired and eating brunch outside a café.

A family are at the next table; an older guy, his daughter and a woman in her twenties. He orders for all of them and I instantly dislike him. She’s telling the young girl about wherever she’s from; Sweden, perhaps. I can’t understand why she’s telling her about snow: It’s already one of the warmest days of the year.

He says that he doesn’t like America. He says he doesn’t like Paris because it’s “too French.” I don’t know what this means.

I know that nothing will make sense today.

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