There is kind of a crease in the day in Paris. Things stop, or at least slow down. As though the city is taking a break before it all starts again. Everyone is shedding the day and getting ready for evening, except of course for those who will be bringing us our evening. The hour is between 6 and 7. It is already getting dark and the streets are oddly deserted. There are three, no maybe four kinds of people about if you count me with my camera watching the other three. There are the last minute customers in beauty parlors and nail painting shops and of course the people who work in those shops. The third kind you see here. The people who will be making it possible for us to eat those wonderful meals. I never thought much about them until I read George Orwell's “Down and Out in Paris and London.” His descriptions of the inner workings of a restaurant, describing the amount of work and pressure these two people taking a last smoke break will experience over the the next 5 to 7 hours gave me a new outlook and a new respect for them. They are going to have to work as a team, each pulling his weight to get through the evening. The kitchen is small, the tables close together, many of the customers can't read French or English and it is their job to provide not just a good meal but a good experience as well. Because I eat dinner early I see them often, sitting together at a table grabbing a quick meal before the doors open, or, as these two, just relaxing for a minute with a cigarette and a little banter. Their Paris is probably vastly different than mine.