Enter the pre-war bar known (supposedly) for its literary crowd–more than one cafe is describable this way–and wait for the B-Tender.  He is serving others.  As he moves towards you, see the menu-cart on table behind you.  The one displaying available beverages.  Congratulations, your turned your back on the B-Tender.  Rotate to order cheapest possible beer (2.10) and produce bill.  Let B-tender hand you all the change you forced him to make just before you find (and advertise) the euro-dimes and such in your pocket.  It is quite possible you just failed the B-Tender Review

Now go to your table with beer in hand (he would have brought it),  put jacket on chair (despite hook right there on wall), and sit.

An hour plus later it was a woman who said it.    She may well have had her first drink here back when the war was on or the literary crowd clamored for describables.  Same could be said of her friend.  They talk nothing but Dutch the whole time–unusual, as even natives slip into English on long talks–and there’s a little stagger standing up.  Much drink?  Long life?  She gets her coat from the hook with grace and makes a deliberate eye contact you might call the utter opposite of some pearl earring-ed-girl glance:

–It is not easy, but it is, it is, she says.  This English you must, now, translate, into, . . . you know, English.

Forthcoming:

• Older Woman: Interactions with
• Cafe Acoustics
• B-Tender Reviews
• A Digressive Discourse On Why Not Working For Tips Changes Almost Everything
• The Seventh Ventur