The café was located at the boundary of a residential area and the commercial area. The unpretentious sign made K think of a secret meeting place; it certainly wasn’t intended to lure customers. K went down a stairway and saw on one of the walls a mural of the very same Renoir painting that adorned his bedroom.
The café was not too big, not too small. In the dark interior he made out half a dozen customers, all of them women.
“May I help you?” a bearded man in a necktie asked cautiously.
“Could I get a coffee?” ventured K.
The man shook his head. “Sorry, we’re not serving coffee.”
He’s lying. The place was fragrant with the aroma, and each of the women had a coffee cup at hand.
