Pearoast: John Resnick
I met John Resnick in a bar in Cannes in 1996. I was sat there getting cnuted on French lager, and smoking tabs. John was sat on the next table, and was reading his paper. He was a dishevelled kind of character, almost trampish, but had very clean well manicured hands. He had his own supply of tabs, and seemed to be able to afford his own beer, but was frantically circling with a pen parts of a newspaper he was reading.

At some point, John leaned over and said, in an American twang, "You boys English?"

We confirmed, and he sidled over on to our table. This is where John proceeded to tell us of his rather colourful, and exciting life.

John had come over to the Cannes Film Festival in 1968, and whilst he was there, someone stole his identity. That is, a doppleganger assumed his life and went back to the States, meaning that John could not go back home. His family, his job, his life now belonged to someone else.

Of course, it wasn't long before John explained the CIA's involvement. And boy were they involved. John told us how the whole of France was just one big experimental zone for the CIA - and that every man, woman, child, and even pet that died had been systematically killed by the CIA. At this point he showed me his newspaper. He had been reading the Birth Marriages and Deaths pages, and circling the names of people that had died, and was writing them in a book he was keeping.

I pointed out that it was also curious how people listed in the deaths column also seemed to die in alphabetical order. John dismissed my comment and went on to tell me what he needed me to do. He needed to get a message to sympathetic friends outside of France... he then wrote down 2 names and contact numbers and passed them under the table to me.

I was to call these people the moment I got back to the uk, and the tell them that John Resnick was alive and well in Cannes.

I pocketed the paper, we made our excuses and left.

Outside, I looked at the paper. He had given me the numbers for Dave Geffen and Paul McCartney.

Just as I was reading this, I heard the crack of a rifle going off... I hit the deack and rolled into a shop doorway... but it wasn't a rifle, just either something backfiring or some other associated noise.

I stood up and brushed myself down, then went to casino and won. I threw the telephone numbers in the bin.

I hope John got home ok.

Apologies for length. The BMD's were printed on a broadsheet, about 9 column inches.
( Piper Alpha is being a grumpy northerm bastard on:, Thu 27 Aug 2009, 17:31, 2 replies)

That's a genius story
with just the right amount of "WTF?" to suspend disbelief and only enough information to create mystery. Makes me want to hang out in random bars in Cannes.
(raymond "three griddle pans" luxury yacht lovin' the christmas action, Thu 27 Aug 2009, 17:44, closed)

I've read this before somewhere...

( rofl harris, Thu 27 Aug 2009, 21:59, closed)