As In Foyt

As in FoytHe was standing atop the pit wall, hands on hips, looking out through slitted eyes at the Frenchmen--people he distrusts because they serve fish with the heads and tails still on them. And if that isn't enough, they all talk this goddamn funny language. Close beyond the first tight circle of Frenchmen was a looser stand of European journalists, all of them poised, waiting for some of those clean, cutting, kiss-my-ass quotes they had heard about. And beyond them all, parked on the edge...