Hours glide away slowly along the green lazy stream of the canal.
Sergey, my travelling companion, didn’t arrive yet.
He must be somewhere between Moscow and Paris right now.
I float over a green blues, without any feeling to go anywhere else.
I keep on walking calmly up and down along the two sides of the Canal St. Martin, among the red tents of the homeless people, who have transformed this area in their own slightly surrealistic camping site.
It’s not the merriest life, but there is not any deep gloomy feeling which is usually connected with homeless people living in the streets.
They set beach umbrellas, deck chairs; they have home made barbecues…
They seem to be bored and friendly at once.
I realize I’m a kind of entertaining unusual presence.
One of them calls me, kindly:
“Excuse me, Madam….”