The number of victims, the violence and the cruelty of the attack, all this we will learn tomorrow. But slowly, we understand that something very serious has happened.
In our bar, phones are ringing, faces are worried, everyone is shaken. Though first, there is denial. Strangely, we order a second bottle of wine and return to our discussion. Other customers do the same. The Friday-night ambiance from before this brutal interruption begins to return, but our phones start beeping and ringing incessantly: "Stay where you are, girls. Sleep at a hotel if necessary; do not take the metro."
Nobody really knows what's going on or where the terrorists are. The waiters put on the news. Automatically, we speak louder, but between each sip of wine, between each joke, between each laugh, looks make a hasty return to the television screen.
Another waiter comes to our table: "Girls, do not worry too much, but do not go out to smoke, we'll close the doors. Smoke inside if you want." The waiter does not just close the door; he barricades the bar. He locks all entrances and lowers the iron gates. My girlfriends and I exchange looks: You think the terrorists are going to come here? Followed by: Well, we can smoke inside, that's cool.
From this moment, time passes very quickly and in slow motion.