Friday, 8 July 2016

Story #318 - The French Girl

Sometimes you want a cliché in life. Or a cheesefest, or something really lame, appalling, that's not mundane in reality, but more in certain movies.
That's how I wanted to see a French girl wearing only a mime shirt, white face paint, one of those chic, scrawny moustaches, having a beret on her head, black, of course, and eating from a baguette while smelling a rose. I know, I'm not dreaming much. And I have a low standard. Why not two girls like that? I don't know. One's enough. Zero? Not so much. 
I expect to see stuff at times. Weird, inexplicable. This wasn't one of them. 
I searched far and wide, in a cave, on the Eiffel Tower, under a bar, below the stage. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. 
Whenever I'll go to France, I'll have the memory of searching for the unfindable, cliché ridden, French girl. Sometimes, you want to reach for the unicorn without it being in a dream. Sure, you'll fail and get sad, but hey, nobody said everything is attainable. 

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