C : July 13th Part 2

I've just had some pasta in a small resaurant below Montmartre, and
I'm walking back through Pigalle to the hotel. This used to be the high
spot for Paris nightlife, the Folies and the Can-Can. Now I'm
surrounded by sex shops and peep shows. Men still wearing sunglasses at
midnight are touting for customers in every other doorway. A hundred
years ago Lautrec was capturing the colours of this place on canvas.
Fifty years ago Robert Doisneau caught the post war optimism in
black-and-white shots of kissing couples. I look around at the red neon
lights of the "Sexodrome", the beggars and pimps in the doorways, the
empty Big Mac boxes on the pavement. Maybe Tracey Emmin could do
something in leather and dogshit to record Pigalle in 2002.

Along more side streets. I just want to get back to the hotel, go to
sleep, and start again tomorrow. A thin young man appears beside me and
asks for a light. As I'm smoking I can hardly refuse.

"English?"
"Yes."
"Ah, the English are good at football."

He starts to kick an imaginary football along the street, laughing. I'm
thinking that it's just my luck to get the local nutter, but I'm not
worried, so I smile back and keep walking. Then he moves closer and
starts jabbing his knee into mine, laughing and saying "football eh?"
Now I am worried, what's going to happen next? I feel the hand in my
back pocket and grab behind me, catching his wrist. He pulls away,
still laughing, and dances backwards down the street. My wallet is on
the floor. I shout at him, and a couple of people passing on the other
side turn and stare. He gives me the finger, turns and jogs away,
around the next corner. I,m left with my wallet, the stares, and fear
mixed with anger in my stomach. I walk back to the hotel, and stop
outside, shaking. I have to have a cigarette and tell myself to calm
down before I go inside. When I get up to my room I double lock the
door, and switch on the TV. It takes half an hour of watching a dubbed
version of Knight Rider before I feel able to go to bed. I lay down,
and the bed folds around me like dough. I'd forgotten the joys of a
French mattress. Now it's my turn to laugh; tomorrow is going to be a
better day.