Raoul from New York is Paris’ leading baby bum for the last 6 months. Baby bum is my term for all the young transients hanging at the Pere Tranquille from this city, France, Europe and everywhere around the world, who come to the City of Light without any plan other than cast their fate to the wind. With everything considered I like the Dear Boy, who hasn’t worked a single day since arriving in Paris at the request of no one.
I let him sleep over here on Rue des Deux Ponts on Ile St. Louis. Bridget is away on a fashion shoot for Vogue or Elle, maybe the cover. Here on the top floor duplex garret, just me, Raoul and Angus, her dear scotty. Raul was worried about sleeping in the rough, having heard death threats from the clochards under the bridges. He speaks perfect French, but they can tell he’s an Amerlot or American. Sometimes he sleeps in the parks hiding under cardboard boxes. New Yorkers think Paris isn’t tough, but the thugs carry knives and they use them. Raoul carries a knife too. I keep on telling him not to, but he’s from New York, Few of the other baby bums survive this way. This is not his City. It’s not my city, but as a doorman of the Bains-Douches I ruled a small part of the city from 9:00 to 4:00 in the morning.
Heading back to New York to live with his Marx’s parents and NYU. Raul is a good mooch. I shall miss his light as a feather touch. Free entry at Les Bains-Douches, free drinks from the German bartender, and he never asks for a dime. None of the other baby bums come close.