CITY BAND - s/t

Here's a document of a Paris now gone. The city was yours and ours. Strolling down the streets in your tired jeans and bright red polo shirt, a gentle breeze rustles a girl's long hair or maybe it was a boy, passing by in the aluminum sun. Sitting at your neighborhood café, talking with your friends, one of them a traitor, about the last football match, you are French and also maybe support Chelsea, a good move will enchant the evening. Now you work, now you don't, measly government money spent on instruments and chemicals. Drinking a can of beer outside the noise gig Are you 15 years old? Or are you 35? Maybe you're 62 all of a sudden. Laughing out loud in the street, at some joke that, at some point, was on you. Maybe start a fight, too much of this and too much of that under a bright white moon. You move along and there's no reason for concern, everything is wrong anyway. It's Paris and it's the suburbs, a seamless grey landscape that is your past and present, it's a reverie, might