Why do we call “American coffee”? No.1

`I need to drink coffee…`

He muttered to himself, dragging tired feet.

He is in Paris, with full of heated atmosphere and cheer just after the liberation in the end of August. There is no clouds in the sky – beautiful afternoon.


He is looking for a café. He only have had instant coffee since that cruel landing operation on 6th of June – even he had dripped coffee every day when he lived in New York.


Europe is in the middle of bloody war, but the old buildings in Paris are as it was before, since German guys did not destroy them. He wants to visit fashonable café, which is a part of life for Parisien, so he left his trooper alone and now wandering in the city. Hm, the commander may scold me later, maybe? But yeah, the departure is coming, we will head for north, through mad and forest, to Belgium, and to Germany. Nobody knows when this hell ends, so why cannot we relax and make merry just for a while?


He passes through Fontaine street filled with clouds, holding a picture in his hand, which a prisoner of war gave him in Rouen – the picture of the place he is heading for.


The prisoner said;

`When you get to Paris, don’t forget to visit Moulin Rouge. You’ll like it. Find that funny red windmill`


Then the German prisoner just grinned and  did not talk any more. I don’t know what is this place, well, it may be the place where I can go out with Parisienne like this picture. Yeah, Nobody knows when this hell ends, so why cannot we relax and make merry just for a while, at least while I’m in Paris?


Arriving at Place Branche, he easily found the windmill among partying solders, Paris citizens and armored cars.


Oh, yes, but, hm, I mean, I wanted to drink a coffee, first. Good – fresh-dripped coffee. Cafetería, pride of Paris. — he sneaks into the café by the brilliant windmill. The signboard shows; CAFE CYRANO.


*to be continued…*

This post is also available in: Japanese Spanish

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