A slightly disreputable air.

The Sunday morning market just setting up when we arrive. For some reason we're early. An uncharacteristically  quiet beer and absinthe crowd still clustering inside the cafe waiting for the barman to pour them their first libation of the day. Today the lady in the blue quilted dressing gown and red pom pom slippers is wearing an orange hairnet over her curlers.  They manage a half hearted '' Bonjour M'Ongoose " before turning back towards the beer pump. 

The flower stall , always a good indication of the changing seasons , a mass of anemones and ranunculus. '' How were the daffodils last week ? " asks the flowerman. ' Wonderful ' I reply not altogether truthfully. Having been sold them at half price it would be churlish to point out that they had withered by Wednesday. The ' antique ' dealer with his black leather jacket and slightly disreputable air is unloading a collection of  painted zinc garden planters onto the pavement. I look at the price. From the price tag he's clearly hoping that a busload of rich Parisians will be dropping by.