these pâtés these bottles these cans dead fish protected by cans cans protected by glass glass protected by cops cops protected by fear So many barricades for only six unhappy sardines… A bit further away, the bistrot café-crème and warm croissants the man staggers and in the inside of his head a fog of words a fog of words sardines to eat hard boiled egg café-crème coffee laced with rum café-crème café-crème coffee-crime laced with blood!... A man well esteemed in his neighborhood Had his throat slit in broad daylight the murderer, the vagabond, robbed him two francs so one laced coffee zero franc seventy two buttered slices of bread and twenty-five cents for the garçon’s tip. It's terrible the small sound of a broken boiled egg on a tin counter It's terrible that sound when it stirs in the memory of the man who's hungry.
ENGLISH
‘Unentitled’, Penny Stuart 49
