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but if so he was an impoverished flaneur
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who lived on the margins of urban life
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and who now came to the Grand Boulevard
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not just to observe with detached distance,
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as the flaneur, but to hate, and now to kill.
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He moved on, finding each place was not crowded enough.
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At eight p.M. He reached the Cafe Terminus,
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right next to the Gare Saint-Lazare, around the corner from the Gare Saint-Lazare
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and, as the cafe was slowly filling up,
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he ordered a beer, and soon another, and then a cigar,
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and in a rather un-anarchist-like gesture he paid for them,
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as the small orchestra played on.