the cafes in Paris are just like you imagine
they are:
very well-dressed people, snobs, and
the snob-waiter comes up and takes your
order
as if you were a 
leper.
but after you get your wine
you feel better
you begin to feel like a snob
yourself
and you give the guy at the next table
a sidelong glance
he catches you and
you twitch your nose
a bit as if you had just smelled
dogshit
then you
look away.

and the food 
when it arrives
is always too mild.
the French are delicate with their
spices.

and
as you eat and drink
you realize that everybody is
terrorized:

too bad
too bad

such a lovely city
full of
cowards.

then
more wine brings more
realization:
Paris is the world and the world
is
Paris.

drink to it
and
because of 
it.