When they turn the lights up bright, and sweep the tables under your feet, and the servers start counting their bills on the counter with a dart of their eyes, as if you’re the only thing keeping them bound to the law of gravity, lest they start to float away into their evenings with a laugh, a chirping text, and a cigarette, off the curb with an impatient stretch that cracks the daily shellac off their shoulders and necks.
At the Café de la Nouvelle Mairie in Paris, they’re finally off. Except to collect the chairs.
b-Roll
By themselves, they're just small moments in and around beer. Together, they're the culture we love.
