Morning Coffee

By: Guillaume Placidet

The sun was shining, the people talking, the waiters serving; oh, it was a nice day to drink my morning coffee. The red carpets around the bistro had lost their original bright coloring after being stepped on for years, yet the owner of the bistro still cleaned them every night, brushing off any dirt, removing any stains. The people seemed happy to drink their coffee, for what better way was there to start a breezy November morning than spending 6 euros on a coffee—double espresso serré—and a croissant?

This scene, however, hid a darker secret for M. LeBrun who was sipping on his coffee, fiercely examining his surroundings. The woman he was meeting was not the one he was wearing his ring for; more so, Valentine de la Portaliere was his fiancé’s best friend. They had been friends since elementary school, they had gone on vacation together, they had cried together, they had ranted together—how tragic is it that life sometimes gets in the way of things.

Across from him, Gaspard was reviewing his medical textbook as he was preparing for his first exam as a college student; his coffee was still warm, and behind the cup stood four other cups that he had already finished. His work would pay off some day, he just didn’t know it yet, and he didn’t know it would lead him to do even more work...though, would that have even stopped him?

Marie Françoise also came to the Bistro Saint Martin every morning. She arrived at 8:30 sharp before leaving at 9:45. By then, she would have had the time to drink her coffee, speak with Olivier, the owner, and listen to Radio Matin. Coming here was not new. No, on the contrary, she had discovered the bistro when she was young and had developed an intimate relationship with the sanctuary of her morning routine.

M. LeBrun, Valentine, Gaspard, Marie Françoise—they were all there when it happened, sipping on their morning coffees.