The image of France

Wednesday evening, after the Press Club.  Our alcoholism is read in our eyes. Taxi obviously.  Previously, pizza pie sweeten-salted at the New York pizzeria where I do not know which is tired the most or drunk. The salesman "forgets" my currency. I recall him. Apologizes.  My pizza pie arrives. Strange taste. My tetanized taste buds. Under the effect of alcohol and cigarette, they are impotent to describe the composition of the pizza pie. "Do you want some?" Jeff awaits me in company of a chubby met a few weeks before. Bla bla bla. Point out me! We travel by the taxi. No dirtinesses! Promised I pay attention to. We drive on Story Bridge. First impressions about the venue at the Troubadour of Carus, local band with the accents folk and country. "Which language do you speak?" French. "Ah some French! Do you work there or  do you touch governmental assistances?" Without the knowledge, here are brought back for us to the French political businesses. And yes! The image of France is done. France, country of the humans right and of the citizen, is the country of the subsidies. Do you touch of Somalia of, Jeff asks slightly irritated by the question and alcohol. They recieve only US bombs I said, absorbing the last remainders of the pizza pie which seems to me always also equivocal. The driver hilarious. Jeff is only more irritated by it. How many inhabitants in Somalia? "No money". No! How many inhabitants? "It's a poor country." How many citizens? Twenty? Ten million? "Oh! Even not. Less." Stop there, it will be lovely. $9.40 shows the meter. "Sorry I do not have a currency. But your friend has a ticket of 10." Gift 60 cents. French subsidy. Last sandwich before sleeping. To forget this paste which the beer and rum had to contribute to its digestion. Last words worry. Ok France is a country of subsidized where all poor of the Earth want to come. But what about Zizou? Will he play tomorrow?