No bum left unturned

I’m in Eze.   I’ve already done my due diligence and checked every inch of the town.   I’ve also scoured the entire Cote d’Azur for Johnny from the heights of the old village.   I’m now back at sea-level, checking the beach.

I’m immediately presented with a problem.   There’s a guy passed out here who could well be Johnny, but it’s hard to tell because he’s facing the wall and his head is covered with a hat (which could be a telltale sign that it is Johnny).   I try to figure it out without disturbing him.   I check for fancy designer labels that might be exposed on his clothes or umbrella.   Nothing.

I wrack my brain trying to remember what and where Johnny’s tattoos are  (note to self: Google Johnny’s tattoos and catalog them for future reference).   I even take out my little Filofax ruler and try to gauge the unconscious man’s height.   I really can’t be certain.

Perhaps I should rouse him to make sure he’s okay.   If he’s Johnny, he’ll be grateful and forever in my debt.   But if he’s an ailing homeless guy, I may actually have to help him.  Hell, I can barely help myself.    And if he’s a French ailing homeless guy, I’ll have to help him in French.   Oh, lord what a dilemma.

After staring at him for about 15 minutes, hoping the power of my gaze will awaken him, I finally come up with a plan. Normally, I’d just stand close to him and yell “FEU”, but I don’t want to alarm the other people on the beach or call attention to myself.

I nonchalantly pick up some stones from the beach and surreptitiously toss them gently at the sleeping man.   After three throws, he shudders awake and turns towards me, trying to focus.    It’s clearly not Johnny and he looks a little pissed.   I do the only logical thing and run like crazy.