this is not a party blog

We always pout about the americans for having exported such shallow holidays as halloween and st valentine's day - but france is quite keen on another not-so-national holiday, wich has the advantage of giving an excuse for another get-drunk-party, by celebrating the 17th of march as the day that a certain patrick (patty for friends) brought the true faith of catholicism to Ireland.

Green lepercauns and Guiness are hence the leitmotifs of the day - the evening actually.

So last tuesday, i went to such a party with some friends. had a few "half-pints" (something that you can only have in france, as the Irish or other true beer drinking nations would consider that blasphemy, that and the grenadine or peach syrup poured into beer), one or two sips of whiskey and then, as every french party goes, went to someone's place, to keep partying with leftover sangria and orange juice. French songs were sung, cigarettes  and spliffs were smoked, and tantrums were had by a tipsy and snappy when tipsy host.

But that's not the point. there was a guy there, that one of my friends brought to this party some time later. he'd just met him. 

Young, black, cute,dreadlocks, quiet, dressed in black, no-drinker, and huge fan of bob marley's "bad boys".  he's alomost 21, born august 23rd, half virgo, half leo, came from gouadeloupe four years ago and had some bad stuff going on. so ended up in the street. he used to stay with some old-school punksaround bastille for a while, but now he'd rather be by himself. his best friend is 51 and did some jail-time. 

He showed me some rap songs he had written about his world, his life. he had written them in his native creole, full of jamaican slang- so he had to litteraly translate them to me. we talked for hours.

[there's depeche mode's wrong airing on the radio - somehow, it fits more than anything i can say]

Anyhow, meeting him really had me thinking annd saying sorry every five minutes.

Why? because when you meet people like this, and see they're living a life you've only seen in documentaries or from up your ivory tower, a life you have a million stereotypes about, a life you fear as much as you fear the people who are living it, from the safety and abundance of your calm, university-going intellectual appartment.

Somehow, saying to someone like this that your fridge is empty and you have to go buy some groceries puts things into a very fucked-up perspective. 

so i was sorry. not so much for him (he seemed to take care of himself quite well and he was quite aware of his situation, he wanted out of it, he had plans as to how to do that, he'd stopped dealing and stealing for a while now and he almost died some time ago. the ambulance people hadn't noticed him, as some cars were burning in aparking lot). I was sorry  for my taking things for granted. for a kind of insensibility, of unawareness or...way of saying things to him (although i'm not sure if i was just imagining that, or if he actually noticed that). he said i was funny and made him laugh.

I mean, what the fuck do i have the right and justice to complain about?