In Paris, evening falls. It has rained recently, so the dead autumn leaves are beaten down and form a weird pattern on the asphalt. People hurry to their dates, rush past with their cigarettes burning
and leave after them cloudlets of tobacco smoke.
Here comes a distinct smell of prune, such a sweet smell; people on the terrace give way, and there is our striking character behind the crowd.

HENRI`S STORY! 
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