Paris. City of Lights and dark places. Lost souls trying to live in a post impressionist streetscape desperate to find the things they know they’ve lost forever or never had. Step back and try to see what they see, a facade so thin that it’s totally transparent and yet so much better than their previous existence. The indigenous citizens trying to ignore the flotsam that’s passing them by, eyes closed, fingers in their ears, maybe when they wake up, it’ll all be okay. The have and have not’s co-existing in the same world with the immediate horizon just a few feet away. Liberty, equality and fraternity only works if you believe in it and nobody does. A thousand padlocks and lots of keys but none fit. Revolutionary guards drum away and French Scotsmen block the streets. Where are all the bourgeoisie? They’re up in Montmartre wearing red scarves and hoping for a better day.