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A café that has replaced its barstools with swings hanging from the ceiling.

Doll parts littered every aspect of this café, which seemed to be more of a bar when looking at the menu. Still had a nice children’s section though, as they were the bigger draw for the swings.

Music from what sounded like the 30s played over the speaker system. Perfectly paired by the accordions hanging from the ceiling and on the wall.

I took my leave of trying to fight the heat of the sun and got a tea, pulled out my watercolor painting, and began to sketch in books.

The girl working the bar sported a flatcap and as she stood behind the bar with nothing to do she seemed to work on a crossword puzzle in the newspaper. An air of ennui that disappeared as she took orders for drinks.

If this was an option to wander to everyday and work on my art I think I would quickly become one of the fixtures on the wall. If I ever owned a café…

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French underworld tattoos at the turn of the century. The man sports a tattooed mustache intended to foil the prohibition of facial hair in the Foreign Legion. The World of Tattoo by Maarten Hesselt van Dinter. I can only dream of being anywhere near that combination of badass and crazy. Though at that point the Foreign Legion was probably still the best place for criminals to get their record cleaned so perhaps he is as well quite legitimately scary upon all of that. I find myself flipping back to this page time and time again to romanticize the French underground from around 1900. Give him an accordion, a beret, and some braces. Prostitutes who could easily kill you if you ever come up short and tattoo the names of their ‘actual’ lovers between their breasts, close to their heart. Tattoo ‘Je mother fucking t’aime’ in a tattoo cursive along my collar bones.

Windy Coffee. [part 1]

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