And as soon as I had stepped down onto the parquet floor of that parlour, beneath the great palms that stood in vases tere shooting up as high as the arabesques of the ceiling, I noticed, that I had, in fact, reached neutral ground, because the parlour had no front wall whatsoever . It was a kind of loggia, connecting to the town square by two or three steps – an offshoot, as it were, of that square, where a few items of furniture had been placed on the pavement. I ran down the few stone steps, and once again I was in the street. (…) A few worn out and rickety droshkies loomed black in the street, like crippled, dozing crabs or cockroaches. A coachman leaned out from his high seat; he had a small, red and good natured face. – Shall we go, young sir? – he asked.
il. for The Cinnamon Shops by B. Schulz