Amuse Bouche

Their waiter shoved his nose deep into the balloon glass, his brow furrowed, critically assessing the wine he was about to to serve. He raised his eyebrows, a facial shrug. “Pas mal,” he said.”It is not bad.” He had to slide and dance and spin to get around the table to pour the wine correctly, sidestepping other patrons and other staff, the wayward limbs of gesticulating guests.

from The Expats by Chris Pavone (2012)

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