Showing posts with label shadow behind the light. Show all posts
Showing posts with label shadow behind the light. Show all posts

Sunday, 1 April 2018

The bullied takes on Goliath in the true horror stories in modern Paris part 67

Pork Barrel is politicians’ one mean out of many (hopefully legitimate ones) to ensure their office, but Japan is currently rocked by a scandal tagged by the word SONTAKU that can be translated as ‘Conjectures’.  It all started by our First Lady whose desire was to become ‘a Saint.’  God, help us.  According to the media (thus not guaranteed, these days) she had been urging people to exploit her influence that came from her status.  People with good sense did not take up the offer, however, at least one man thought, ‘why not?’ and to cut the long story short, one bureaucrat had to commit suicide and our current Prime Minister’s third reelection is off the table. 

It may have been the same with Mr. Honour.  He may have wanted to do a genuine favour for Mme. Empathy.  But many people, not just me, have suffered physical damage as the result of his action.  But what Mr. Honour and the First Lady of Japan ought to have known was that doing a favour to one person would result in depriving a fair chance from other candidates.  In Mr. Honour’s case, some other decent restaurant team which deserved the chance to contribute to serious Paris dining scene was wasted on Mme. Empathy's team who was in it for easy cash.  The First Lady of Japan may have become a Saint to her acquaintances, but she has become a predator in the eyes of the others. 

My neighbors live in fear of Mr. Honour after their official complaints against Mme. Empathy’s restaurants were rejected based on inconclusive evidence.  The officers had come to measure the noise and odour when the restaurant was closed.  Coincidence?  My lawsuit was slowed further by an odd counterclaim from the accused.  My lawyer could not believe how things were different from his other cases.  However I somehow sensed some darkness had been lifted from the building. 

It was not long before Mme. Landlord found out that Mme. Empathy was searching for a new apartment where she could live with her new man with the money she had obtained from the sale of her shares in the restaurant business.   Our femme fatal had found a sucker to wash her hands off.  This meant my struggle would continue, but it brought about a wonderful twist.  Mr. Brave, her arduous admirer, also sold his apartment, which left Mr. Pride with less allies.  I chose to celebrate for the time being.

…until another shadow was leaning by our wall, puffing out the smoke.

To be continued.
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