The Boulevard was long and straight. On one side there was shade under the plane trees. On the other the sunlight shone white. I would walk down the Boulevard to work, looking in the windows. It was pleasant. Sometimes the beautiful American girl was seated at the café reading the International Herald Tribune. I glanced at her. She never smiled. At the kiosk I bought my own copy of the paper. I sat nearby and ordered a cold beer. The waitress placed it on a felt pad on the table. I drank the beer.