Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

‘Where is our coffee?’ wondered Scatty, ‘she’s taking ages,’ as she craned her head across the aisle, ‘but at least that lovely red-headed woman had given us our tickets, she’s so useful, never inept is she,’ as Scatty glanced across the aisle again.

‘We’re going to be branded as liars and thieves,’ muttered Joan, – Francis said, ‘well, it wasn’t us, was it, it was only them, those wretched gargoyles,’ as he glanced up, although they couldn’t actually see them, since the two gargoyles were lying on the top of the train.

‘Hush, don’t talk so loudly,’ muttered Joan, ‘we need to introduce a different topic, people can hear what we are talking about and that is not a good idea – mums the word, eh?’

Then the red-headed woman appeared holding the four coffees; she was putting them down on the table, and she said, ‘ouch, that was very hot, I got a slight injury, look, there is a small burn on my left wrist, still it’s not a train smash, as we would say – and yes, I’m crossing my one thumb for luck,’ as she grinned.

They sipped their coffees – all black and no sugar – as they were all mulling their thoughts as the train continued to travel quickly; of course, it was dark now, but they could see more buildings, ‘it’s a big town coming up soon,’ remark the red-headed woman.

A little later, the train slowed down, ‘look it’s going to stop before the town, I wonder why?’

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~