A Taste Of France

Picture it: you're walking slowly down a clean sidewalk, the sky is cloudy and it's the leaves are colors of red, orange, yellow, brown, and everything in between. You are in Strasbourg, France, and you're here for a month. There are restaurants and shops of all kinds around you, and you happen to take notice of a fancy jewelry store named Cartier, the name colored in a bold red and soft gold. You see several talented artists along the streets painting pictures of the people and scenery around them. A cold breeze gives you the chills, so you tighten the scarf you're wearing to keep warm. There are people of all ages sitting on benches in the park nearby, reading books as the children play. There is a young man playing guitar and a young lady wearing a light blue dress twirling her blonde hair next to him. You briefly smell the aroma of fresh coffee, and then notice an antique looking cafй. Although you can't quit read the name, you head towards it. As you are walking to the cafй, a small boy in his school uniform runs past you, chasing and beckoning his black and white puppy. Then you see a young woman quickly walking out of an expensive looking store named Fanny with several bags in her hands. You are now close enough to read the name of the cafй you've been walking to, and the big old painted wood sign above the door reads: A Taste of France.

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As you read the sign a second time, you smile to yourself. You realize that the title for the cafй would make a good title for the next three weeks, because this is your own little taste of France. So much to see and so little time, you think, but a small French cafй like this would be a great start. You take your last drag, and stomp out the cigarette you've been smoking as you step to the door of A