Thoughts of the French Girl Far Away

I'll Pay Your Way By Hovercraft

It's a cold, rainy, day in Paris.

The French Girl sits drinking coffee and sketching in a notebook. Her iPod plays songs about France in a playlist made by an admirer whose name she can't remember.

As she sketches, she thinks of the world's great museums. But she doesn't want to have her work displayed there. No, the French Girl wants to rob them.

If asked, she'd tell us she'll build an underground bunker beneath a small shack in a tree-lined suburb. She'll house the stolen artworks there and invite her favorite paramours to see the beauty she has hidden.

You see, the French Girl has big dreams.


In an alternate universe, Peter Blegvad would be a huge star playing arenas throughout the known world. Sadly, in our world few people know about him and his records are mostly out of print in the U.S. Needless to say, the French Girl has loaded her iPod with his songs.

She doesn't know about the Figgs, though. She doesn't care that they've toured and recorded with Graham Parker or that their own albums are filled with crunchy, infectious power-pop. In that alternate universe, her tarot-card reader would urge her to go to an all-day festival, where she'd sweat through six mediocre bands until the Figgs came on. She'd love their energy, but turn in indignation and leave immediately when she thought they were mocking her homeland.

Then, she'd go rob another museum.



The French Girl finishes her drink, closes her sketchbook, and puts her pencils away. She runs a hand through her long hair, brushing it out of her face, and leaves the cafe. She rushes off somewhere (because that's what she does).

And you watch her without talking to her (because, sadly, that's what you do). Even in Paris.