Coffee in the morning, tabac burning slow, seven quiet minutes with nowhere else to go. Across the courtyard, half a face appears, yellow hood on Monday, gray T-shirt for years. Lawyer by diploma, painter after dark, living with his parents, watching from afar. Quel personnage… Psst! Stella... Forty-eight windows facing forty-eight more, someone’s fighting, someone’s spying, someone’s naked by a door. A child screams “Putain!”, a dog has lost its mind, privacy was lovely while it lasted. SHUT UP, YOU ANIMAL! Welcome to the balconies, the balconies of the insane, everybody knows your business, personne knows your name. Ah-ah-ah… la-la-la… Everybody’s watching, chéri, pass the ashtray, what a beautiful disaster, what a lovely way to waste the day. (Oh, Stella…) Three feral children, one old man at war with God. My boss, her husband, and his magnificent bald spot. Across the way, our oracle knows who did what and where. The mother likes her powder. Apparemment. The son gets high upstairs. A paintball came flying through the air. (Psst… Stella. Hey, Stella!) Oui, je sais. Welcome to the balconies, the balconies of the insane, everybody knows your business, personne knows your name. Ah-ah-ah… Everybody’s watching, chéri, pass the ashtray, what a beautiful disaster, what a lovely way to waste the day. Twenty calls. He answers. They hang up. Then one evening… a mask. A staircase. Nobody there. Des idiots. Ils sont tous fous… “Français de merde!” If I ever catch the bastard… Suddenly it isn’t funny anymore. Quel service… (Pssssttt… Stella.) Quoi encore? Mais c’est pas possible... Welcome to the balconies, the balconies of the insane, everybody knows your business, personne knows your name. Ah-ah-ah… Everybody’s watching, chéri, pass the ashtray, what a beautiful disaster, and it's getting stranger every day. Half a face behind the railing, waiting for a sign… Tout le monde regarde… Tout le monde écoute… Psst… Stella… Putain!
