Let's just call him Fab for now. Anyhow I was staying at the Hostel in Marseille, and one of my room mates didn't speak any English. However, I was fascinated because he had a tear tattooed on his right cheek. What did this mean? I was intrigued to say the least. So I started to attempt communication. In a struggle over 6 days... I was able to teach him basic English. He taught me to understand French even though I refused to speak it. I think it's important for the French to speak English... since it seems to me French is a dying language. Anyhow... he was going through a divorce, had a 3 year old daughter, no job and no home. Over the next several days he conveyed his struggles to me. He had been in French Prison for over ten years, could not get a job or a new home because of his tattoos and past. Apparently, it is impossible to fire or evict someone once they've been hired or move into a place. I spent several evenings trying to calm his nerves after hearing him outside screaming at his wife over the phone. I could feel his anger. I knew this pain... I did not get the jist of what happened between he and his wife... and quite frankly did not want to know. I just tried to keep his spirits up. I gave up a few days of painting to wander the beach listening to him bitch in French and broken English. One of these days we happened upon a Quick burger(a French McDonald's) I asked him if I could buy him a burger. He said no way would he ever set foot inside a quick burger. Then the story began to unfold... when he was a teenager he attempted to rob a Quick burger. "Give me all your money!" The kid behind the counter said "We just dropped the night's cash in the safe. I don't have any money." At this point Fab raised his pistol and shot the kid in the face at point blank range. He did not kill the kid... but inhiliated his left eye... and pretty much destroyed his face. This is why he was in Prison. Later that night he rolled up his sleeves and showed me the most amount of scars I'd ever seen on some one's arms. He had attempted an escape over a razor fence and was unsuccessful. Wow what a fucking story. He was still angry at himself and French society for not giving him a second chance now. He said I was the only person in years to look him in the eyes and treat him like a friend. He was very generous to me. My shoes were quite smelly from all the walking. He gave me his extra pair of Nikes and a cool shirt he thought I'd like. I'm wearing both the shoes and the shirt as I write this. I gave him a painting... and many hours of my ear. For those of you that pray... give a shout out to your God for my dear troubled friend Fab. He is really close to the end of his rope... I hope he can find a less troubled road. He left the Hostel today because he ran out of money. But before he left he shared 2 things with me... first he showed me a bottle of Methedone(this is not a good thing) and the name he has given me... "Creature of Destiny". Cool name for my book if I ever finish it.
