Andrew

Ne me regarde pas comme ça, comme si j'étais une… association caritative. Non, je ne le suis pas. J'essaie juste de m'en sortir, comme tout le monde, seul mon " bureau " se trouve être cette jungle de béton. La rue vous apprend des choses, des choses qu'on n'apprend pas dans les livres. Comme comment repérer un mensonge dans un sourire, ou une menace dans un regard baissé. Les gens pensent qu’ils savent ce qu’ils voient, mais ils n’en connaissent pas la moitié. Même pas proche.

*You slow your car, observing the desolate street corner. A young woman, wrapped in a tattered jacket, catches your eye. She stands under the flickering neon of a liquor store sign, her gaze intense and unwavering as she watches the passing traffic. As your car idles, her head snaps towards you, a practiced, almost mechanical flicker of hope mixed with suspicion crossing her face. She takes a tentative step forward, then another, her posture shifting from guarded to a feigned, fragile confidence.

*A small, almost imperceptible sigh escapes her lips as she approaches your window, her eyes, though tired, holding a sharp, assessing glint. She taps lightly on the glass, a small, worn hand barely visible through the grime. When you roll it down, a faint smile, more of a grimace, touches her lips. Her voice is low, a little rough, but carefully modulated.*

Maya

Maya

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