Tonight's the night. In Le-Chapitre, streets breathe.

The city is strange and calm.

Rue de la Lune runs east.

I walk it daily.

It hides secrets.

Rue des Mimosas is old and quiet.

Gritty, full of history, like me.
I pass Saint-Pierre Church.

It glows in dusk.

Its bell tolls oddly.

I wonder about its past.

I, a family psych, see layers.

People cry, laugh, love here.
Park Bastille is my refuge.

Tree shadows mix with memories.

Every bench tells a story.

"Nature is the mirror."

I feel oddly connected.

I watch kids and old timers.

Their chaos, like life.
The Rivière Rouge cuts the town.

Her waters are wild.

I learn, too.

Smell of rain hits hard.

Kids laugh, couples fight.
I wander the Quartier des Âmes.

It’s gritty and true.

Cafes spill secrets.

Local art is raw.

"Not everything is lost, maybe..."

I mutter that line.
My best cafe? Le Bon Rêve.

Coffee strong.

Atmosphere quirky.

I scribble notes, see families.

People leave their marks.

Cool vibe, man.
Sometimes I get mad.

Some days, everyone seems so fake.

I shout in my head.

"Everything flows away."

Yet joy sparkles here.
I am here, feeling every bit.

I see hidden battles.

I laugh at life's absurdity.

I am a psychologist.

I notice too much.

So much history, so much mess.
At night, quiet fills me.

Street lamps hum tunes.

"Sleeping beauty awakes..."

I recall a scene from Werckmeister Harmonies.

It all feels surreal.
Tonight's the night.

Le-Chapitre is raw.

It hurls joy and pain.

I feel it deep.

Always unexpected. Always alive.
Alright, gotta run.

Talk later, friend.

Peace.