Tuesday, 22 April 2014

The only (i promise) black pudding of the year.

The city.

A square, back of the main road, across from the park.

Residential, but a bar on each corner; people are playing petannque on the dirt where grass once grew.

The bars are noisy.

The waitress in this one is aggressive, she doesn’t like it if you strand and talk to your friends.

You can’t hear what anyone says from the other side of the table, the music is too loud.

But you can eat.

6 euro for st jaques noir et blanc.

Three scallops on 3 slices of black pudding.

Apparently it’s fashionable.

She brings three baked camembert.

We ordered two.

She was aggressive before, now she’s hostile.

She has a tattoo.

It’s ugly.

I don’t tell her.

I go home.

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