Late on Line 9
Shitty day outside
Two bums, homeless
A man and a woman
Drunk and not worried
“When I was 19
We had a drink called
The Coffin” she says
“The Coffin” he asks
“Yeah, we would take all
The alcohol in the house
Mix it together, whatever
And get fucked up”
“Yeah” he says
They have cans of
Hell beer in hands
She looks 60
All puffed up and dirty
She’s 35
“I don’t remember
When I was 19” he says

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A stiff husband

A couple comes into the train
He’s ashamed of her
Big ass
Not good looking
Hard features
Yet you can tell that
She cooks for him
Does his laundry
Being nice and more
He paid for the restaurant
Tonight and
All in all he had a good day
He has an easy life
With her
Still, as he comes in on Line 9
He’s ashamed of her
And sad for himself

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Paris, the day after, I don’t care for your prayers

This morning, there was a strange silence in my street, and it didn’t bode well. Indeed, I live in Paris’ near suburb and today should have been run here a semi-marathon. Every year, on this particular Sunday, I’m awaken early by a rock band playing loudly to encourage all participants. This morning, within this deafening silence, I could hear the chimes of St Cloud’s church, however far it is. What a symbol! What sadness!

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Four Line 9 métro locations
A diagonal, one after another
Right where Armageddon struck
In the night of carnages
These stations were
For once
A safe heaven
And Line 9 trains
Brought survivors

Next day
The city under shock
Line 9 still runs
We’ll resist these assholes!

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