Friday 17 September 2010

The 18th...

by Thomas Jaunism

I'm staying in the 18th Arrondissement. On Rue ---------. I think most people on the street are from the Ivory Coast, but that's an uneducated guess. The motor vehicles and tense conversations can be heard constantly from my 4th floor apartment. Signs are draped from the balconies opposite. They say "Non. Non... Non a la Prostitution...64-65". The women sell a small purple vegetable, not unlike an eggplant, from their trolleys on the footpath. The men deal in counterfeit watches and belts. "la police est proche!" a women warns under her breath. The market recedes and people casually gather around cardboard boxes. The police pass and the boxes are once again adorned with sparkling goods from far away places. There is a steady flow of water on the asphalt, day and night.

I like the day better.
I got mugged in the night and that got me down a little.

"Tu as une cigarette mec?"...
"um...Je ne comprends pas"
"Vas-y!...une cigarette.."
"um.. Je ne..."
Then he offered his hand up for some sort of handshake. I was just returning from a 5 hour train ride and, because it was cheaper, I travelled first class. They gave us wine and terrible food - I indulged.
I took his hand and he started doing some peculiar dance with me. His leg was between my legs and he was sort of grinding me.
I was very calm as he did this. I observed him and noted that he was strange... that this dance he was doing was rather unconventional.
Yet I allowed him to continue.

"Qu'est-ce que tu fait?" - An older guy seemed concerned.
I now noticed that there was about four other guys around. Varying levels of siftiness. The dude that asked the question seemed alright. The faces of the others told me that something was fucked up.
The dancer let me go and I promptly headed for the train. I got on and saw one of the siftier characters sitting at the the end of the carriage. It was like that moment in some American CIA film where the protagonist suddenly realises he's being watched. Hitherto innocent bystanders become undercover agents (His whole life ends up being a complex facade, he doesn't know who to trust, etc...).

That's when I freaked out a bit. 'What the fuck?' Then I checked my pocket and my wallet was gone. I had a fair amount of cash left in it from the tour - and all that other shit people keep in wallets. I showed no emotion as I realised this. I only cared about the sifter at the other end of the carriage. It was still three stops till my station.

This all happened at Gare de l'Est. I feel safe on Rue --------- but I'm still a bit sketch about Gare de l'Est.... and the night.

I rarely leave the neighbourhood. I slept a few days at another apartment up the road, but I'm back opposite the anti-prostitution signs now. I pass my days studying french and reading a hit novel about yoga, and a treatise on the Proust's life.

Today I climbed Montmartre and read about meditation and love in the sun. It's Friday today and I leave for Nantes on Monday.

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

well that sound bit shit. Rule number 1 don't dance with strangers, but all this can be hard to avoid. still you have your health. stay staff bro

Sarah Jane said...

Boo, that totally sucks.

The dance sounds gross too.