Guilty pleasures

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The other day we wandered into a bar-tabac run by a Cambodian woman and her brother. They had come to France years ago as refugees after their parents were killed by the Khmer Rouge. We drank beers, ate prawn crackers off a fuschia-colored melamine plate, the ubiquitous kind you find in cheap Asian eateries. The couple next to us asked for peanuts instead.

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