by Francois Riviere

10pm and I found myself sitting in a sea of plaid shirts, all of which blending together into an annoying pattern, and drinking glasses of cheap, tasteless and watered-down American beer with an alcohol content so low it would have taken a keg to get me drunk. Amazing how the surrounding patrons of the bar were all frolicking around with a bothersome drunkenness. Americans don�t get drunk, I�ve decided.!They just get more annoying.

There was no mistaking the identities of the fish in plaid shirts that plagued my current state of existence, as fraternity brothers. It was quite obvious since in France, you see, we have certain ways of picking out young American tourists. Obviously their complete and total ignorance gives them away immediately, but also their khaki pants and button-down shirts that could easily be mistaken for the pattern of ones boxer shorts.*

Long known to congregrate in large groups, seriously destroying any acceptable guy to girl ratio, one must wonder why so few have decided to "come out". Rather obvious, as it is.

Here and there, inside the bar, I spotted a young girl in what has become the standard uniform for American girls; tight black "hot " pants and a form fitting elastic cotton shirt. These can be interchanged with a tight black skirt (long is preferable, as the mini leaves much to be desired these days) and/or form fitting tank/tube top. The backless shirt has also become quite popular, but its appeal ruined, at least in my mind, as it is mostly worn by those who shouldn�t be wearing them(see mini skirt).

Black is a must for anything below the waist. If it�s not black, then don�t bother. White or red being the preference colors for tops. Sky blue or pink are also acceptable. If you were purple, hopefully someone will be kind enough to give you matching eyes, er, eye shadow.

Solid colors are a must. Don�t bother with those crazy designer patterns that collage images together. They are designed by fruits, and therefore appear fruity. A single flower (daisy or sunflower), with no stem, in between the breasts is negligible. Headshots of anime characters were passe 3 years ago, but it seems no one has let anyone know.

If you wish to get a head in the fashion game I would recommend snakeskin skirts or pants as they are currently the rave in Italy.

END FASHION COMMENTARY

The bar wasn�t very inviting. The lights were dimmed, which I didn�t mind, but there was a definite division amongst its patrons. Even the dance floor divided itself into various clicks. Ironic considering the name of the bar was The Union.

I walked around, alternating glances at hot pants with my beer. Voices. Snippets of conversation crashed into my head. Illuminating the hollowness of their lives.

"What a bitch."

"I�m totally just leading him on."

"No, seriously. I think you�re beautiful."

"Yeah, he�s a loser. He�s in my biz class"

"I totally just fucked the shit out of her."

"I don�t know if I should come over."

"What a slut. She cries when she sucks."

"I just use him."

"Okay, I guess I�ll come. You�re so sweet."

"Oh hey Matt. What�s up?"

"I�ve got him whipped. Did you see my necklace?"

"I�ll meet up with you guys later. I�m-a go get some!"

My head was pounding. I downed a shot of Jack to clear my senses and headed for the door. On my way I found myself drawn into a conversation. Not by choice, but by sheer disgust.

"Come on," he pulled her by the arm. "Don�t make a scene."

He was bigger than her, dressed in his plaid and khaki uniform. His faced was red and filled with rage. The kind of rage that is a very real part of a persons character. The kind of rage that angers for no reason and becomes violent out of nature.

"I said let go, Eric!" She cried, trying to pull herself away. She was innocent, like most girls. Blinded by the notion that life didn�t get better. That these are the things that you deal with because there are no other places to turn. It�s like a performance, played out nightly by thousands of couples. One that move from rage into�

"I�m sorry. Look I love you. You know that Karen," he let go of her arm. I�m not one to intervene in other peoples business. Perhaps it was my drunkenness, but more than likely my disgust. I had seen this sort of thing played out many times and I was sick of it. Next he was going to run his hand through her hair, her head would fall into his chest and everything would be okay. Tomorrow she�ll cry about to her best friend, and yet do nothing about it. And endless cycle that leads to desperate marriage, neglected children, physical abuse and ultimatly divorce. Leaving you to look back on the past and regret the life you wasted clinging on to an attraction that was never there.

"You are a pathetic person," I stood between them.

"Who the fuck are you?" he responded in amazement. It was probably the first time anyone had stood up to him.

"I am Francois Riviere. Are you so insecure about yourself and your small penis that you have to take out your aggressions on your shortcomings on others?" I asked him. She giggled and he relaxed his grip on her. He then pushed me back.

"Who the fuck are you? I�m gonna shove that accent of yours�

"Stop it Eric," it was her who came between us know.

"What the fuck. You stupid bitch," he pushed her back and I cracked him in the face. If there�s one thing I can�t stand it�s some insecure jackass hitting a woman. He fell back. Dazed. The bar went on as if nothing had happened. Everyone around us was so deeply involved with themselves that they had failed to notice. I felt the girl grab my hand.

"Come on, Francis!" she was fighting back tears. She pulled me towards the crowd, but I was reluctant at first. That is until I noticed his friends helping up his groggy figure. I�ll admit I�m not much of a fighter. Fighting is for men with repressed homosexuality, small penises and low self-esteem. My talents lay in the bedroom.

"It�s Francois!" I yelled at her ignorance as we made our way to the back entrance. I could see him in the back, looking around, trying to find us. Luckily he and his bruisers didn�t notice us as we made our way out the back.

The change of atmosphere was immediately noticeable. I could actually breathe and the girl was actually prettier than I thought.

"Thanks, um, he can be a jerk sometimes."

"It�s an inherent quality. Smiles are for show with his type."

"What?"

"Nothing. What�s you name?" I asked her. We started walking down the alleyway and back onto the street.

"Jill. Francois, right? Are you French or something?" She sniffled and wiped the tears from her eyes.

"Here," I gently dryed her moist face with my jacket sleeve. "So, was he your boyfriend."

"Yeah. He�s not that bad, really. He just gets angry sometimes," she pointed to the left. "I live a couple of blocks that way."

I smiled and followed her. "Why do you stay with him?"

"I don�t know. Why do you care?"

"Curious. Curious to know what a beautiful girl like you would find in an ass like him. Why you would put yourself through that shit and still rush back to his side. I mean, this isn�t the first time this happened, is it?"

"No, but its really none of your business. He�s gonna be so mad now."

"So tomorrow you�ll be lovers again?" I shook my head. Partly disgusted. Partly amazed at her ignorance.

"Look, you don�t understand. He�s not that bad. It�s just sometimes�," she stopped herself in embarrasment.

"He treats you like shit. Where I come from we treat women with respect."

"Well, you obviously don�t come from here," she stopped. "I live right here. It was nice talking to you." She turned and walked away.

I just stood there for a minute, not sure what to say. "Don�t you respect yourself?"

She stopped and paced towards me. "Excuse me? Fuck you!" she smacked me. "Fuck you. You think just because you stand up to some guy at a bar you�re my knight in shining armor? I don�t even know you. You can be worse than he his. At least with him I know what to expect, okay. So fuck you and your chivalry. You don�t know what it�s like okay," she broke into tears. "How many women have you fucked and walked out on before they woke up? What? Did you expect me to jump in your arms and sleep with you or something?!"

"I just wanted to talk. I saw how he treated you and I don�t think its right," I set my hand on her shoulder. She immediately brushed it off.

"Mind your own business," she cried her way inside her house. Later tonight Eric would come over. They would make up and the cycle would begin anew.

What was I trying to prove though. She was right about what she said, in some ways. Maybe something just clicked. A realization that it all leads to the same thing; desperate marriage, neglected children, physical abuse and ultimately divorce.

Why did I think I could change something, when in reality I didn�t know any better?

To be continued

*Of course you would never catch me dead in boxer shorts. I�ll allow you imaginations to wander, however, as to what I do wear�