Phobia

Phobia Once in Paris, I was going to a venue reading poetry, the hotelier told me to take the subway as it was easy. After being a fender for busy people I found my train and suffocated. First stop, I ran off and found myself at a strange part of the city, sweating and shaking like d drunk who had been on a bender for a fortnight. Phobia! I didn´t even know I had one, my pipe dream of being a u-boat captain had sunk in a hole of terror. My instinct, when lost in a strange place, is to find the nearest tavern/bars, there are many taverns in Paris it was easy to find one. I had Pernod, not that I like this drink, but after all I was in France; to blend in I wore a black beret given to me by a relative of my wife who runs a hat factory in Lyon, and I had had garlic bread for breakfast. But was unable to lift the glass, my left hand wouldn´t let me, the right hand blankly refused and pretended to be lame. Finally hiding, behind the Guardian- an English newspaper for people who see themselves as liberal socialists-. I gulped down the horrid drink. It did wonders. So I ordered a whisky, I was a hero, nothing could scare me as I walked bravely out into busy streets full of people who looked at me as if they had not seen a beret before, and looked for a taxi.