Three women walk into the Kolding Caffe and choose a table next to mine. The one closest to me has a girl of about two in her arms. It does not take long before the girl turns her attention toward me. She seems to be fascinated by my long, thick cigar. Soon she points at the glass bowl with crackers that I get with my Guinness. The women get no crackers with their coffee. Her mother turns toward me apologetically, but I tell her that everything is just fine. One by one, the girl eats all the crackers. When the bowl on my table gets emptied, she points at my cigar. Her mother laughs. “But no cigar,” she tells her daughter and pulls her closer to her chest. The girl sulks at once. It does not take her long to relent, but she starts smiling and waving coquettishly at me. “But no cigar,” I remind her with a wry pucker. She looks down dejectedly, and then she turns her attention toward her mother and her friends.