Our scene opens with Storm, the crabby old lady who lives in a apartment next to the alley. She wanders the streets at the wee hours, arguing with herself and shouting at passers-by of Champs d'Poissons Délabrés. As the morning bustle continues, she is gone, and Cosmo and Thisby are at the corner Cafè Le Poèt Sans Emploi next to the intersection of Champs d'Poissons and Rue Dame de Sac. Cosmo is drunk, but cautious. He does not like the newcomers to the alleys of Champs d'Poissons, even though he lives in a large house outside the city, in La Pièce De Christopher. Thisby is his skittish girlfriend, terrified of everything, allergic to 400 different kinds of airborne contaminants, and seeing three different therapists. She lives in the Apartments Les Sous d'Lit, in the basement, where she stares at the world through the garbage cans and street trash. Both are drunk on cheap wine and day-old bread, arguing over Satre and Camous.
On the corner is Tony and Harley; recent immigrants. Probably from one of the recently fallen iron curtain countries of eastern Europe. Tony is looking at the scene like he will own the citizens of the streets one day. Harley, his step-brother, is at his side. Taboo, the skinny Nigerian delivery boy who shares an apartment with them, nods in greeting as he makes his rounds. Watching everything with feigned interest is Latte, the older 3rd-generation American girl with Thai parents. She is only here on holiday, but has been taking pictures of the surroundings, watching... waiting... making friends with the local politicians. She notices that Cosmo's eyes dilate at the sight of Tony. Cosmo's cigarette smoke curls around his face like a screen. Thisby thinks the police have been trying to control her mind through the Internet, and excuses herself back to her basement apartment, where she'll shout at the legs of passers-by behind her windows until she falls asleep in her methadone.
The local Gendarme, Ahfu and Widget make their rounds, and everyone minds their own business. Sometimes they chase people, sometimes they sit at the cafe and watch people with suspicion. They are corrupt, and bought by the local politicians.
Soon, night falls, and the night crowds come and go until the street is left empty in the early morning. The morning mist pieced by Storm, shouting at invisible ghosts of memories long forgotten by others.