XXLove letters       

                                        

 

 

When my monologue was the most successful sales pitch,

 

 

The door number faded away,

The digits were gone one by one,

Losing patience,

We watched the world story,

It had been washed away,

Layers of time were layers of paint,

Every room has a view of the sea,

Yours wasn’t blind,

It looked out on the zinc ocean,

‘I don’t know an artist, who was inspired by walls,

The roofs of Paris are sheer beauty,

It’s the city above the city,

It isn’t big,

One hundred square feet,

Nevertheless it has all,

Four ancient walls, your own roof,

A table, a bed, a sink and a faucet,

One day you will be famous,

You’ll rent in Nouvelle Athenes,

All your works will cost an entire fortune,

One day your name will be more than successful,

There is one inconvenience of very little importance,

You have to share a bathroom,

It’s down the hall,

By the way I am a typist,

A maid’s room belongs to my aunt,

I help her to find tenants,

Sometimes it means ‘very often’,

She shares my financial troubles,

When I don’t have a rusty franc in my purse,

She never comes here,

She says Montmartre is dead,

No writers, no poets, no artists,

Only peep shows and the bourgeoisie,

                              They don’t know Montmartre,

They hear only prestige,

When they happen to hear old stories,

It’s the part of the city,

Here front doors look quite the same,

They take for granted,

Neglect and disrepair,

Abandonment and abuse,

They appreciate peels of time,

Don’t look down on them,

The most important thing is don’t fall in love with them,

If you don’t want to suffer unsuccessfully looking for cure’,

After I gave you my first advice,

I grasped a notebook,

The previous tenant had left on the table,

As if he hadn’t existed,

Now everything was about us,

Under the copy of Edgar Degas’ L’Absinthe,

We arranged our next rendezvous in the city of babel.