When you enter this part of Paris, you notice the difference, the border between the romantic and beautiful, to the rough, crowded and very intensed. Paris has so many beautiful fountains, churches, architecture, decorations, etc. It has so much of history and art. But, do we forget that the year is 2009 and that the romance and beauty are replaced by the hunger, bitterness and conflicts between the citizens.
Welcome to this dark spot of dirt on this perfect diamond. Welcome to the mess in the city of perfection. Welcome to the richness, in the city of poverty. Welcome to the joy in the city of depression. Welcome to the love, in the city of war.
When you enter the metro line nr 2, going from Nation up to the north of Paris, you see all kinds of people going into town. When the metro reaches the station Stalingrad, most of the white people have left the train. What you see now is a mixture of Asians, Africans, Arabs and a few caucasians, going up north. Some faces are bleached, becoming a mixture of orange and brown. The knuckles are very dark and the face has some black spots. You see most African cloth and African jewelry. The language sounds more of the tones from countries right below the Sahara, as opposed to the coastal tones. More of the dialects are from Senegal, Mali, Guinea, Burkina, Niger.
When you exit the metro at Barbés, you look down at the ocean of people. Crowds at the street corners, crowds by the metro ticket machines, where nobody pays. Hustlers are selling fake Rolex, Chanel, Malborough, phones, etc. The streets are never empty, except for the muslim prayers, otherwise people are always watching, always talking, looking for opportunity, your mistake - their luck. It is the area where the cars are burning, police passes by quickly, they don't care to bother. People get robbed and nobody comes to help. It has a very strong spiritual power, you have to be careful with who you relate. In the stores, you won't see French souvenirs, only Arabic outfits, North African dishes, oils, insence and couscous. On Wednesdays, there is a market, they sell veggies, clothes, fruits, etc. Everybody lives under African law in this French piece of paradise.
It is not your neighbourhood, they know you and they are watching you.
There are phone booths for cheap calls and the North Africans are calling all the time, families, arguments, shouts, and cries, everything goes on there. Some people are ready to fight you for a simple thing. The Asians store owners, think that you will rob them anytime. Never trust you and watch you at all times. Welcome to the city of Paris, or should I call it something else?
Welcome to this dark spot of dirt on this perfect diamond. Welcome to the mess in the city of perfection. Welcome to the richness, in the city of poverty. Welcome to the joy in the city of depression. Welcome to the love, in the city of war.
When you enter the metro line nr 2, going from Nation up to the north of Paris, you see all kinds of people going into town. When the metro reaches the station Stalingrad, most of the white people have left the train. What you see now is a mixture of Asians, Africans, Arabs and a few caucasians, going up north. Some faces are bleached, becoming a mixture of orange and brown. The knuckles are very dark and the face has some black spots. You see most African cloth and African jewelry. The language sounds more of the tones from countries right below the Sahara, as opposed to the coastal tones. More of the dialects are from Senegal, Mali, Guinea, Burkina, Niger.
When you exit the metro at Barbés, you look down at the ocean of people. Crowds at the street corners, crowds by the metro ticket machines, where nobody pays. Hustlers are selling fake Rolex, Chanel, Malborough, phones, etc. The streets are never empty, except for the muslim prayers, otherwise people are always watching, always talking, looking for opportunity, your mistake - their luck. It is the area where the cars are burning, police passes by quickly, they don't care to bother. People get robbed and nobody comes to help. It has a very strong spiritual power, you have to be careful with who you relate. In the stores, you won't see French souvenirs, only Arabic outfits, North African dishes, oils, insence and couscous. On Wednesdays, there is a market, they sell veggies, clothes, fruits, etc. Everybody lives under African law in this French piece of paradise.
It is not your neighbourhood, they know you and they are watching you.
There are phone booths for cheap calls and the North Africans are calling all the time, families, arguments, shouts, and cries, everything goes on there. Some people are ready to fight you for a simple thing. The Asians store owners, think that you will rob them anytime. Never trust you and watch you at all times. Welcome to the city of Paris, or should I call it something else?
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