The Dannold Cheque

The Dannold ChequeThe promenade des Anglais. Late May. Blue sea, sugar-white buildings, still a wash of yellow in the sunlight, ten in the morning. Evian Tassopol behind the shutters, waist-high and waxed, that made the back wall of his show window, in one hand a demitasse cup, stark, bone white, the saucer in the other. Blistering-hot coffee, double espresso of his own roast, grind and brew. A sad, unpretty girl stops to look, lifts her eyes to his, blinks, goes away. A bicycle at the curb, unp...