My door violently thrown open with a tirade without even say bonjour.
The Caf sending me to the préfecture de Police, not having specific information where it was located. Perhaps next to the Luxembourg gardens, next to the Mosque.
An African being carted off in handcuffs in front of me, surrounded by seven sportively dressed multiracial policemen and a blond woman chief.
The waiting in the mairie, waiting for L. to come out of his office and ask me to return in the afternoon.
Lunch at VAP with François, neuro-biologist, and Marcuse, UNESCO, photographer, went over until the trash can collectors and the scrubbing, spraying of rue Moufetard became overwhelming, the green caterpillars edging past the outside tables.
S. arrived to give me lots of shit, return to CAF, to find a guard who said: there is a lot of violence but nobody seeks the reason and the cause.
Again mairie overhearing a hysteric conversation between three women, two of them breaking down either screaming or crying, real nervour cases. The chief woman says: nous ne savons pas comment organiser notre travail.
Wazzaaapool.
B telling me: les femmes, c'est le cosmos, le vide, la vie.
Don't tell anyone. But many have said it before.