Pierre sat in the quiet of his little garden. A fountain spilled cool water over ancient, mossy bowls of limestone. It was the best of the week, on Sunday, the church was filled with sinners while saints drank espresso to wash down bites of fresh fruit and assorted small pastries. Campy stretched his legs, and listened to song birds among the garden's flowers and grasses.
"Your hair, so beautiful with golden locks falling on your shoulders, monsieur Campy. All gone and now black and stubby. I cry for you."
"It'll grow back, and no one seemed to know who I was, so far so good."
"It is very dangerous, your plan, but if anyone could pull if off, it would be you."
Campy grabbed the arm of Pierre, "Thanks, I hope you're right."
The two friends sat for a while enjoying the garden, the coffee, Pierre's pastries and their good friendship before the church bells tolled letting them know the hour of feigned holiness was over.
"Well my friend, I must ready the cafe, the streets will be full and money to be made."
"Tonight, we will toast to adventure." Campy said and raised his espresso.
"With relish." Pierre said with a bow before he turned and opened the backdoor to his apartments in the back of the Noir Chat Cafe.
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