Cafe

 Boba Milk

The “ding” of the café’s door chimed as floods of people stepped in. The strong aroma of fresh bagels was alluring while wandering through the streets of Paris. Everyday people would walk in tired, and leave with joy plastered on their faces. No one only went to the café once. If they just decided to grab one donut, they would always come back for cakes and bagels. Then they would come every morning and it would become a routine. The café was a small cozy room with dazzling fairy lights, so bright they could take over for the sun. There were sage green walls and a checkered tile floor that was always squeaky-clean. It was like no other store in all of Paris. It was owned by the one and only Madame Potsh. She was a bright and chipper lady who always had her hair up in a funky side ponytail. Her platform heels would create the familiar “clickity clackity” sound but no one noticed. They didn’t care. They were here for the food.