Whoreboys of Pigalle Place (2008)

The police are always wanting to speak with them.

Have I seen them.

Seen who.

Alain. Claude.

No.

Asking people like me if they have seen people like Alain and Claude is usually a waste of time.

You won't find their hotel listed. Anywhere.

The 9th Arrondissement, Pigale Place, is the red light district of Paris.

Boyz. Peep shows. Sex shops. Strip clubs. Drug dealers. Criminals. Pimps. Hookers.

Alain and Claude are whores and thieves.

And artists.

I did not hesitate to take them on as art students.

It's really all they have. Outside the other whoreboys, the peep shows, the strip clubs, the drug dealers, the criminals, the pimps, and the hookers. Art.

Why art.

I have no idea. Not a clue.

All I know is that they eat it up.

They speak four languages. They aren't stupid.

Sometimes they forget if it's night or day but I do ...

Full Description

The police are always wanting to speak with them.

Have I seen them.

Seen who.

Alain. Claude.

No.

Asking people like me if they have seen people like Alain and Claude is usually a waste of time.

You won't find their hotel listed. Anywhere.

The 9th Arrondissement, Pigale Place, is the red light district of Paris.

Boyz. Peep shows. Sex shops. Strip clubs. Drug dealers. Criminals. Pimps. Hookers.

Alain and Claude are whores and thieves.

And artists.

I did not hesitate to take them on as art students.

It's really all they have. Outside the other whoreboys, the peep shows, the strip clubs, the drug dealers, the criminals, the pimps, and the hookers. Art.

Why art.

I have no idea. Not a clue.

All I know is that they eat it up.

They speak four languages. They aren't stupid.

Sometimes they forget if it's night or day but I do not require that they remember. Night or day.

They steal a lot of wallets and a lot of clothes. Alain is the clotheshorse. At fourteen. Claude is slightly older.

The clothes of the tricks Alain steals are usually too big for him.

Have I seen them.

In my head I see them out on the streets of the Pigalle Place.

Because I have seen them out on the streets of the Pigalle Place.

Making traffic stop.

I swear to you: traffic stops.

Their room is the size of a shoebox.

But it is their room.

Have I seen them.

Once. Turning every head in the Pigalle Place. Like speedboats that make a wake.

The police would like to question them.

But they are like cats.

Who haunt some designated windows.

Leaping.

From the street lamps into the shadows of the Pigalle.

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