Then, out of no where, as these things always are, some guy appeared and tried to rip my bag from my arm. My gold metallic Clare Vivier bag with my life in it–yes, the iPhone, the Leica, the MAC lipstick, the notebook and Muji pen, and the wacky fox fur pointy hat I've had since junior high that I brought on this trip.
Little did this idiot know that his target had just spent the last hour schooling whomever was listening (mostly Brits in Paris for the The Big PInk show) about X. One of the best bands. Ever.
Huh?, you ask? Well, suffice it to say, at the instance of the mugging, when I didn't fully realize what was happening during those the first two seconds, the new Chipewas I got for this trip got a "kick" out of the moment. I'd also been talking Grace Jones earlier in the eve with Leopold Ross, the guitarist for TBP who'd written a good part of her recent album and performed with her the last time I saw him, at the H'wood Bowl. So there was a big Grace roar in my response to the mugger's action.
It was not pretty, I'm sure. My Grace face. My boot.
My bag was not taken.
Nothing inside was taken.
In fact, I'd like to think, the only thing taken this uncivilized morning in Paris is this idiot's sense of self. He WILL think twice the next time he thinks mugging is a good idea. Admittedly, I sit here, my left palm bruised, my left knee bruised, red and skinned, and recall the alarmed look at on his face at his realization that he just came upon an X fan from L.A. who was not about to let go of her new gold purse. OK, so maybe I was just some fluke, an accident who was just mad crazy, nothing about where I was from, or who rocks my vie. But I am comforted in knowing "how" he "learned his lesson" (track 2).
I write as "Under the Big Black Sun" blares on and my Chipewas stand nearby. Love being of the world, but love being a citizen of the dying Roman empire this minute, too, and wish I were there right now…
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