Along a very small street is a small cafe nestled in the southwest corner of Paris.: Le Bougie. It’s where the sun had casted its warmth on the few flowers that make their home in the flower pots and vases along the widow sill.
The smell of roasted coffee and freshly baked croissants always attracted the artists and writers seeking early morning inspiration.
One such artist was Dameon Ricard who spent the long nights contemplating his next painting. Most of his works adorned the walls of the little cafe. He preferred to keep his work there at no charge. His hands where soiled with a variety of paint stains.
“I wash my hands,” he’d say. “Although not very thorough.”