“Do ya want a pain aux raisins? My girlfriend just arrived from a gig with a bunch of ‘em,” the bartender adds. “Oh man,” says a long-day-in-NYC me, “thanks, but no, I just had dinner…” The disappointment hangs unusually heavy. Especially with the bartender's girl friend in the side seat restricted for bar staff's lovers, with whom this has started.
I'm catching up to posts that came through while I was on my Substack sabbatical. This is a great photograph! Wistfully classic.
Love the photo, but disheartened by the story. Take the pastry, every time!
Kenito, I know that joint! There are eight million stories in the Naked City; this has been one of them.
Sweet story! But, Kenneth, mon coeur! Really? Does Pain aux Raisins have any knowledge of time?