Sunday morning in Paris

It looks like it might rain, and I have to kill three hours before I can get into the place I rented.

The flight was uneventful; in fact, I slept all the way from Cairo to Rome, which made the flight feel really short. It was then less than 2 hours from Rome to Paris.

I reached the city a bit delirious, and decided I would have a coffee at the first place I saw that was open. Comically enough, the first open place happened to be Café de Flore, Sartre’s old hangout. I’ve pretty much never come either here or to Les deux magots across the street since my first tourist trip to Paris.