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Clearing The Air
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The establishment known as le Chien Qui Fume the Smoking Dog has all the essential charms of the traditional Parisian café: a mustachioed proprietor behind the century-old, zinc-topped bar; jambon-beurre sandwiches, frothy demis of beer and countless cups of espresso; a dog named Pat prowling for fallen scraps. Lunches go on for hours, and quick coffee breaks turn into languid contemplations of the people streaming past on the boulevard Montparnasse. But if the Smoking Dog's atmosphere seems to waft in from some bygone era, so does the thick cloud of incinerated tobacco hacked forth by its clientele people...