The snowplow
I have a date with Z. at the Deux-Magots.
It’s snowing.
The snow turns to ice.
Someone brings a snowplow. It emerges from the snow like a submarine’s periscope emerging from the sea.
Details about how the snowplow works.
Another (is it really another?) snowplow flips over.
Z. pays seven and a half francs for our breakfast.