Got home tonight, only to find our resident tramp asleep in front of his - and his poor neighbour's - door and snoring like a warthog. The police told us to call the ambulance, the town hall mediators said he wasn't creating a disturbance as he was fast asleep and the man from our house management company told me to take a couple of photos, send them to him and he'd do the rest with the owner and the agency that lets the place out to this reinsertion association. He also told me what he'd do if he didn't work for a house management company and had, basically, nothing to lose. I agreed with him.
This is urban France, where rights ride roughshod over responsabilities and are upheld by judges who swan off to leafy suburbs after a hard day's smoking outside the Assize Court. In the meantime, a mere twenty yards away, a complete waster spoils everyday life for a building full of people, some of whom pay his rent and keep him in cigarettes and beer i.e. me. A phrase you'll hear an awful lot in this country is
sa juste part - his fair share. No lowlife has any problem with me footing his bills as all I'm doing is paying, yes,
ma juste part.
Yes, that's him.
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