Le Café Métropole.

I seek it in this person, in a place, in a bar, in that beer, in that wine, in a cheese, in shirts, in sandals, in socks, in breasts, in a dog, everywhere and in everything, but there is nothing external.

Before the next tiring stage of the journey east I stumbled into an overpriced and over glamorous coffee, patisserie which caters to all the image you dare to project in a material existence. I looked at the Hipsters around me and barged out and took up residence on the bar at the Café Metropole where I was reminded, and amused, that JP Satre and Simone de Beauvoir lingered contemplating their existence in the same cafe, but in another time and space before their atoms became, like all good relics, tied up with mine improving this vintage at the lowest/highest level of being. Oh the humanity!