Gay Paris.

Suits, fine haircuts, dainty meals, beautiful woman, vexed brows.

Mechanic Barista efficiency.

I’m well disguised; long winter coat, new pants, leather boots.

Forget it though, they know it all came from a basket off the street.
It's clear, I haven’t showered in weeks.
No one's getting fooled.

‘Juste une café s’il vous-plait’

‘D’accord’

Ill be in the woods soon anyways,
pissing on trees, fucking in tents, screaming to the sky.

Dirty. High. Alive.

Dear George,

You bastard. All it was was the timing. But you sat on it and played dumb, treating me like an ass hole.

I spent hours under that 'lost cause.' You split your spin and swore. I listened to you whine about your woman. You treated me like a god damn son... a son you'll never have.

Didn't even ask for much money. Just enough to cover expenses... and some for your guilt.

When I banged on your door, you screamed and cursed and came out crutching, full of shame. You knew it was the timing all along, but couldn't bring yourself to let me go. You wanted to cash in but it killed you inside.

Now reluctant, laying with a cripple(a cripple yourself,) you curse about me. Despite everything, you'll be all right. Ill miss my mechanic though. Bye George.

Empty streets, busy minds.

They all took to the streets. Hundreds of thousands. Not because they all knew the world they lived in was full of hypocrisies, ruled by the greedy. Orders passed down through ranks growing thinner and more aggressive as they dropped. Most become so sick of it, they decide: ‘that’s just the way it is.’

The hundreds of thousands knew this. We all know this, somewhere, sometimes deeper in some.

The difference is these people were not only fed up, they were brave. Imagine the first handful who arrived, standing alone in the streets protesting against giant immovable concrete slabs. Having faith that everyone felt the same way. That they wouldn’t be five yelling at walls for long, they would invade the rebel in everyone. First family, then neighbors, then colleagues, then believers.

And we will sit across the world, watching on tiny screens in sublime cafes wondering why we never did this. How we have existed in a world equally conniving, so quietly.

The administrators learnt their lesson in the 60s and 70s. Don’t invade your own country. Don’t invade your own homes. Don’t shit where you eat. You’ll turn them all against you in a second. Feed them protein full of hormones, loud billboards and wet dreams of prosperity, they’ll shut up. But let them see something like this and boy, you’re in trouble.

Yes, we’re learning too.  The rebels become restless.