Une rencontre à Paris

"We have red wine and white wine," says the waiter. He pronounces each word slowly. "Which regions?" asks Philippe. The waiter thinks. And thinks. "Bordeaux for the red. Loire for the white." More thinking. "Also Burgundy." He seems uncertain.

"I like red wine. Bordeaux is good," says Marie. "Me too. Two glasses of Bordeaux, please," says Philippe to the waiter. The waiter nods his head and leaves. He walks away very, very slowly. They watch him leave. "Is he walking backwards?" whispers Marie. They try not to laugh.

The waiter comes back with the wine. He takes five minutes to pour two glasses. They wait patiently. "To meeting new people," says Philippe. They touch the glasses softly. "To new people," repeats Marie and smiles. The wine is good. Not excellent, but good.

"What do you do on the weekend?" asks Philippe. "I paint on Saturday morning. I visit the markets for inspiration." Marie likes her routine. "On Sunday, I correct the students' work. They write about art. Some essays are very... creative." She makes a face.