New Orleans (III)

We are in a posh restaurant of the French quarter. A very chic restaurant boasting its history and continuous business for more than a century. It is not really my kind of restaurant, just too snob and too self contented but I didn't chose the place: it is a work dinner. We have reserved a table for ten and are assigned to the large table next to the fireplace. There is an enclosed courtyard which seems completely emptied of people. I sit facing a large window with an unobstructed view on the courtyard.

The waltz of obsequious waiters starts with questions on the wine list, on the house specialties, on a complete description of the ingredients of some of the dishes on the menu. All sounds like the promise of an infinite pleasure. A pleasure reserved to the very few able to afford a meal at this place.
The waiter disappeared soon after taking our orders. We're talking shop when my eyes are attracted toward the courtyard by the sight of a small shadow moving. I realize quickly that it is a small mouse who is going around like it owns the place. The contrast between the animal and the projected sophistication of this restaurant is irresistible. During the rest of the meal, no matter how much the waiters worked to impress us, I needed only to think of the little mouse running around to smile knowingly. I've seen you naked. You're a mouse. Only a mouse.