Paris - When It Sizzles

just how exciting
a mysterious stranger can be.

I suppose we'll have to describe him.
Yes, I suppose so.
He's American, of course.
I can write him better that way.
Now let's see, what else?
I see him as rather tall,
rather suntanned,

rather handsome, athletic looking,
with a rugged but...
curiously sensitive face.

Poor sad creature.
Little does she realise

that in a moment
she and the audience

will have totally forgotten
that dull clod Maurice,

or Philippe
or whatever his name is.

At this magic moment
her life has indeed begun.

Tenderly he folds her into his arms,
and moving with the nimble grace
of a Fred Astaire,

he dances her off into the crowd.
In exactly ten seconds I want you
to slap me as hard as you can.

There is unfortunately
no time to explain.

And no reason to trust me.
But I trust you.

There's something about
your big magic eyes, and I am...

Well, the name doesn't matter.
Just think of me as...
1331, American Intelligence.

This must be some kind of ajoke.
If you will look
slightly to your left...

Without moving your head, please.