“Skinheads”, I answer in English. It is the same word everywhere. I explain to him in French that I used to wear a shirt like his.
"Ahh," he says, nodding. “Racists hate Sous ou Sur. They are very anti-fascist."
I nod, though now I remember why I got hit, and I'm pretty sure it had nothing to do with my shirt.
"Can you help me?" I ask.
"I think you need a doctor, my friend."
I shake my head. That's not what I need.
"What do you want?" the guy asks me.
"I'm looking for a place around here with a sign like this."
"What is?"
"Double happiness."
"What's that?"
"I'm not sure."
"What are you looking for?"
Maybe a*****e. Restaurant. Club. I don't know, really.
"You don't know s**t, do you?"
“I know I don't know s**t. That counts for something. I point to the egg on my head. "Things
