October sadness.

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@Ambiepam just asked us what we liked about October. I told her I like European cities in fall, with fallen leaves and warm, cozy cafes. Proper hot chocolate in Bertillon’s in Paris. And of course as I thought about that October atmosphere, a purple nostalgia was aroused from her slumber, and I took off on my magic carpet to a cafe in Place de la Contrescarpe. I set my book down to wrap my hands around a cup of hot chocolate: I’d bought it with the few francs I’d scraped together (1970s, pre Euro), a brief respite from the impecunious existence I’d fallen into. My eyes lit on a most elegant, red coat at the bar, a winter coat. In it was a dark-haired lady with a sad expression. She asked the barista (or whatever they were called in the 70s) to use the phone. He grabbed it from the other end of the bar and set it down obligingly in front of her while he prepared her coffee. Today’s young people find such arrangements cute and quaint. The lady, oozing elegance, poise and charm revealed herself to be Argentinian when she began to speak. She saw me staring and turned away to converse on the phone so I never found out what she was talking about. But the abiding memory I’ve been left with is one of elegance, luxury and sadness.