A large enough room, and I'm sitting next to the wndow at the table farthest away from the bar, so I feel a little bad when the waiter makes his trek all the way over here and I have nothing better to say to him than "un café, s'il vous plaît." He deserves more but, alas, I am a starving artist and cannot be throwing away money for waiters who probably will do alright without my help. His weary countenance suggested he could use the exercise anyway, something to get his blood moving. Maybe waiters should get free espressos as a perk -- that way they could stay energetic about their jobs, and everybody wins. Though something like that might be too easily abused and is probably not good for the heart. Oh well.

The tabletop and chairs are of a light wood; the chairs have mottled black cushions. Each pair of tables has a Heineken ashtray to share. My espresso cup and saucer depict multiple instances of a lunging yellow plant, almost scary looking, actually, with stamens popping out of its mouth as if it were rabid. I received a sugar cube packet with a picture of a Nigerian head sculpture on it. It's so nice to be exposed to culture tangentially whilst engaged in the simple activity of enjoying one's daily coffee.