At four I left, extremely tired, and there were trees, leaves, houses—mixed, perhaps somewhat too tidy, and, I would say, not much to the point. Never mind. Leaving the subway, I was on my way to the Café Rex when out of the Café Paris (nor do I know why one café got mixed up with the other) some of my lady friends, who were supposed to be sitting at a table and eating ladyfingers and dipping them in cream, began to beckon (?) to me. The mystification appeared right away because, actually, they were sitting at an enamel tabletop set on four bent prongs, and the eating consisted of sticking this or that thing through the opening in the face during which the ears and noses stuck out and the heels, too, stuck out from under the table, that is, out from under the tabletop. Yak, yak, about this and that but I see that this or that sticks out (?) and protrudes (??) from this or that woman, therefore, I finally excuse myself and leave, pleading lack of time.
[More at the Paris Review, as translated by Lillian Vallee in an edition forthcoming from Yale University Press]