Ever wondered what the Parisienne pop music scene was like in the 1980s, but were too afraid to ask? Well – here’s your chance. Graphic descriptions, some verging, IMO, on the pornographic, of the music scene in the 1980s to terrifying descriptions of night life on the Paris streets in the 2000s. Realistic characters, all trying to come to terms with what they haven’t achieved. I’ll definitely be reading more contemporary French novels.
Vernon says to himself that there is no danger, that these guys are racist militants who are not planning, with the steel toecaps of their perfectly polished boots to give him a good kicking. Yet he is trembling from head to foot. He is on the ground. He is terrified that this will tempt them to lash out. He wants them to go away, to let him catch his breath. It is at this point, in a howl of unintelligible screaming a red headed giant appears, her arms whirling like windmills, shoves them aside and splutters:
'Go fuck yourselves you dickless little turds, leave him in peace, don’t you see you’re scaring him witless, you stupid skinhead shit-wanks?'
