Dominique Fabre: The Waitress Was New

I wandered around for a while, and then I went into a café near Batignolles park. I ordered a beer from a young guy in a white shirt and sat down by the front window, not too far from the door. I had another and we talked a little, when you’re in the business you recognize each other. Maybe a barman still served some purpose, after all? He’d ended up here by chance, and for the moment it suited him fine. I could see his reflection in the window, looking out toward the boulevard with his tray under his arm. He wouldn’t keep the change, obviously he didn’t want me to leave him a tip. And that was that. I started back toward Saint-Lazare to catch the last train home. But the closer I got the less I liked that idea. In the end, I decided to walk back to Les Grésillons. All my papers were piled up on my table, and in my head all the trimesters to come, waiting for me, and all my past. I took a nice shower, not too hot. It was way too late for the Channel 3 news. I wasn’t really up to reading on a night like tonight. Then I couldn’t think of anything else to do, so I went to bed.