"Can you tell me where the coffee is?" asked a scrawny gray-haired woman with a lazy eye. Her tone was anxious. Her tone was that of a person with a gaping wound asking the way to the Emergency Room. I started to answer, but before I could utter more than two words she immediately cut me off.
"Oh! You have that Beaujolais Village?! Do you have it in- oh! you have it in the small bottles! How much is it?"
Once again I started to answer, and once again she cut me off.
"Oh, I love that. But I don't want any today. But I was just wondering how much they were." Every statement she made was delivered rapid-fire. Her son (aged around ten, I would guess) looked exhausted and apologetic. I started back in the direction I was already headed. She grasped my arm.
"Can you tell me where the coffee is?!"
I pointed in the general direction and walked off as quickly as I could.