La journee de les framboisses

I used to spend every morning writing and drawing in the café beside my place, looking quietly at the people sipping their coffee or gazing out of the window. I thought – this is the café where the dreamers go. One day, there was a girl I had never seen before, with curly hair and an analogue camera. She took a photograph of me but I pretended not to notice; I was too shy to talk to her. I wish I had asked her to join me…