Standing at the bar in a cafe in Lyon and there are bodies all around, in chairs at tables, moving a little to music whilst going up to the toilet, waving money at the bar staff, trying to attract attention.

Big black guy, ugly as sin, beautiful mad face, all unshaven but a smaller beard of slightly longer hair protruding out of the rest of the growth. Dirty old Jazz Festival t-shirt, James Brown playing Sex Machine and yer man jumping around and singing along. Bouncing people out his way, grabbing hold of them and pulling them into the dance. He's contorting his face to the screams of Brown, out a yard or two from the bar and moving back toward it again. Raising his glass to toast the room and swinging his arms round before taking a gulp.

Girl beside me at the bar, smoking a cigarette, grabbing a quick break from serving. I turn back to our conversation:

"I like his madness."

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