How beautiful is this kitchen? We’re imaging that it’s tucked away on a quaint street in Paris, perhaps halfway up the hill of Montmartre. It’s inhabited by a quirky genius of a writer, who sits on those delicate leaf filigree chairs, sipping on a never-ending cup of cafe au lait with just a small bit of sugar. As she stares into the mirrored fragments that adorn the walls, the characters in her mind come alive – they speak to her, they populate the images in her imagination. Meanwhile, the sunlight streams in, freckling her bare shoulders. In that antique sideboard, she keeps all the requisites for a cocktail party; come evening, this kitchen is filled with the faint scent of Chanel No. 5 and the cigarette smoke that those who’ve leant out the window for a puff or two have left behind. This apartment has history in its walls, stories in its eaves. Don’t you think?
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