Memories of a bar

It's 10am on a Thursday morning. The usually busy streets of Montmartre are still deserted. Inside a bar, a man leans against a table. He probably does not feel like talking, at least not to the barman. Or he is just waiting for his friends to arrive, one by one. A daily ritual. I love bars in Paris, they are impregnated with decades, sometimes centuries of customers' stories. Tales of far away adventures, bold conspiracies, political discussions, or love pledges seem to linger in the air, without ever to be caught. There is a maybe bit of all of that in that man's head, ready to be told. But for now, silence will rule for a few more minutes. (click on picture for high res)

Leica M9 with 50mm Summicron at F2.0, 1/500, ISO160

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