It's winter again in Argelès with the tramontane blowing. The marché was half empty of both merchants and clients. I offered to buy the sausage seller a coffee, but he turned me down because he didn't like the café where I was going, although he was polite about it.
In La Noisette there were four friends to chat with over a hot cup of tea. These people are particularly interesting because they've lived in so many places. The couple literally has had their family spread on four different continents at the same time.
The son of one of the tea drinkers came in. He looks enough like Edward Snowden that I would worry if I were him that the US might cut him down. He is getting used to people saying, "Are you him?" or "When did you leave Moscow."
One of the waitresses came up for a translation of the French word for lentils so she could tell an English couple. As soon as I left I wanted to double check to make sure it wasn't the word for contact lens she was looking for. It was the food, although we agreed that the correct word would become apparent quickly by its usage.