"Be careful," the old man said as I stepped into the street to take the photo of the painting of the Catalan dancer drinking his muscat. The painting had just been repainted as it had several times in the twenty odd years I've walked by it on my way to the beach. The latest date was 2006 and was signed as always, Emile
The old man could have been a stereotype for a photo of French peasant, blue work pants, plaid shirt, suspenders and beret.
"Do you like it?" he asked.
"I do," I said.
"I'm Emile. I paint it. I like to watch the tourists stop and take pictures of it."
On the way back from the beach, he was still there, talking to other old man, all dressed the same and sharing his bench.
As I walked by he winked at me.