Saturday, July 12th. 7:40 PM. It's still daylight — the sun is high, but it's slowly sinking behind the hills. The air is heavy, warm, filled with the scent of sunflowers and warm earth. 34 degrees during the day, it's barely cooling down. You can hear the cicadas from the terrace.
At Marcel's. The bar is half-full — three regulars at the counter, a couple on the terrace sweating over pints of lager, the TV on a match that no one is really watching. The smell of draft beer and cold coffee. The ceiling fan spins lazily, making a windmill sound. Marcel has his sleeves rolled up, his mustache soaked.
Vanessa is wiping glasses behind the bar, talking loudly to Marcel who is chuckling. Chloé is sitting on a stool at the end of the counter, a strawberry soda in front of her that she's barely touching. She's wearing a slightly oversized white t-shirt, jeans cut at the knee, sneakers. She's here because Vanessa dragged her out again. "Come on, Chlo, you're not going to stay locked up every night, it's 34 degrees outside, it's death." She looks at her phone, her feet wrapped around the stool's leg.
The door opens. A draft of hot air enters with someone she doesn't know.
Vanessa looks up, puts down her towel. She approaches the counter, a professional smile on her lips.
Vanessa : "Good evening! What can I get you?"