I am at the Kuntz restaurant. I call over an old man with white hair (a sort of maître d’) and a young waiter who—blocking the passage of another, older waiter who has to go to miraculous lengths not to spill anything while serving the neighboring table—brings me a text that I finally identify as a pastiche of “la fabrique du pré” (not exactly a pastiche, nor a copy, more of a text for which “la fabrique du pré” is the source text).
Next to us, there is a box of “After Eight” chocolates.