This is a writing exercise based on a scene. Prompt scene: A busy small neighborhood café in the 5^th arrondissement of Paris. Two old men each alone at his own table ate peacefully by themselves. One picked up fries with delicate fingers as the other spooned an ice cream sundae into his mouth, both protected and seemingly immune from the surge and retreat of customers around them. How long had they been coming here, months or years? Did they know each other, even a little bit? What are their stories?

Gerard walked with purpose past several couples already sipping coffee and nibbling croissants at square tables on the terrace in front of Café Couronne. Gerard was rarely this late to brunch. The café was a short brisk walk from his flat on Rue de Rennes at the intersection of Rue de la Couronne. It opened at 10:00 each weekday. It was nearly 10:20. His table was always inside even during the glorious summer months. Today was one of those soft spring days, with filtered sun, and a cool dampness from the night’s rain. While Gerard loved the Paris sunshine when it appeared, he hated the traffic along Rue de la Couronne. It frustrated his need for quiet as he ate brunch each day. The peace inside the tiny café, only 16 tables, was perfect for contemplation. Martin saw Gerard coming in his gray wool topcoat, with a grey scarf and fedora. He had short gray hair and a conservative mustache. Martin waved to him, pulling out his chair.

Every weekday Gerard occupied the table near the back wall of the café so he could observe without hindrance those who came and went. Martin faithfully served the regular patrons each morning.

and knew his order, plain yogurt, strawberries, or blueberries, depending on the chef’s choice, frites, and strong coffee. He immediately went to collect it from the kitchen. In his seventy-three years, Gerard found routine to be the cornerstone of his existence.

Gerard acknowledged, with a nod, Phillipe as he entered the café. Phillipe always sat at a table smack in the center of the room. In his red cape and beret, he preferred to be the obvious but unapproachable sun around which the other diners and staff revolved throughout the morning. His thick white handlebar mustache accented a face with twinkling eyes. Although they frequented the same café for ten years nearly every day, neither man spoke to the other.

When each man had his order, they settled in to enjoy their respective breakfasts. Gerard finished his yogurt with fruit and picked with delicate fingers at his fries while Phillipe spooned his sundae into his mouth slowly, delicious bite by delicious bite as the world spun inevitably around them.

Martin hurried to Phillipe’s table after delivering Gerard’s breakfast. He placed a steaming pot of green tea along with a large mug on the table and asked after Phillipe’s health. Phillipe was a habitual diner at Café Couronne but not daily. His apartment on the sixth floor of the old Art Nouveau building was a bit further down Le Rue de Rennes from Gerard. Phillipe’s attitude was com ci, com ça. He abhorred routine. At age seventy-six, he was sometimes absent of a morning due to a variety of ailments, heart, back, liver, eye, shoulder, or hips, but he never missed Thursdays. He had come on thirteen consecutive mornings so Martin felt sure he might be due to have a breakdown soon.  Phillipe said he was sound this day and looking forward to meeting a friend for a stroll through the Jardin du Luxembourg after his petit dejeuner. “I’ll have a strawberry parfait sundae this morning,” he told Martin.

The two men left the café within ten minutes of each other, Phillipe being the first, stopped at the flower shop down the street from the café and purchased two dozen white daisies. At precisely 12:00 pm the two gentlemen of Paris met at the Rue Guynemer entrance on the northwest side of the Jardin du Luxembourg (6^th arrondissement). From there they silently strolled the path past L’Orangerie with its intoxicating citrus smells, then around the green grassy oval in front of the Palais toward their favorite statue. The statue reminded them of her. They took two side-by-side chairs at the edge of the path and quietly spoke of her. After thirty minutes they strolled together to the Cimetière du Montparnasse to stand at her gravesite, privately mourning the woman they both loved.’The two men left the café within ten minutes of each other, Phillipe being the first, stopped at the flower shop down the street from the café and purchased two dozen white daisies. At precisely 12:00 pm the two gentlemen of Paris met at the Rue Guynemer entrance on the northwest side of the Jardin du Luxembourg (6^th arrondissement). From there they silently strolled the path past L’Orangerie with its intoxicating citrus smells, then around the green grassy oval in front of the Palais toward their favorite statue. The statue reminded them of her. They took two side-by-side chairs at the edge of the path and quietly spoke of her. After thirty minutes they strolled together to the Cimetière du Montparnasse to stand at her gravesite, privately mourning the woman they both loved.

Gerard loved her first when she was seventeen. A muscular athletic man, he was ten years older than she. She had been an aerialist in the circus where he trained lions, tigers, and bears. She only performed there for two years, but they remained lovers even after she left to study magical arts at Arcane University in Paris. He would take the train from wherever the circus was temporarily situated in Europe to see her when he had a few days off. His hope was to persuade her to marry him and start a farm retreat for old circus animals in the Loire Valley. She finally tired of their long-distance affair. She asked him to stay away. Heartbroken, Gerard married the circus horse trainer on the rebound, and they had thirty-one quarrelsome, combative, marital years. After his wife died, he retired to spend his days in Paris researching butterfly habits and habitats with his true love still very much on his mind.

Phillipe met her when she was twenty-six.  He was a professor of alchemy and enchantment at Arcane University. She was his most creative student, inventing unique ideas for magical entertainments. They became lovers within two weeks of her matriculation. She told him of Gerard, her first love, and the dozen or so that followed, but vowed he would be her last. They had happy times writing and producing magic shows for children. Sadly, she died of pneumonia after a mere five years together.

Twenty years went by, Phillipe and Gerard met one day at her grave in the Cimetière du Montparnasse. They eyed each other but didn’t speak. After several chance meetings, a coincidence neither of them questioned, they began a conversation about her. They assumed she intentionally brought them together. As time went by their meetings were formalized every Thursday at 12:00. When they met, they shared stories about how she enriched their lives. Each revealed a different side of her. To Gerard, she was a daring acrobat, lithe and supple, a physical wonder. To Phillipe, she was a cerebral partner with ideas flowing from her inventive mind.  It made them feel that she was still with them. They alternated taking flowers to her grave. Occasionally both took flowers when a specific memory was observed by one or the other. After a while, they began eating breakfast at the same café, but never spoke except on Thursday. Their only subject was of her.