Rue du Beal I - Sarcelles en Force.

Almost a thousand kilometres separates the northerly Parisian suburb of Sarcelles from the small town in the fold of hills below the Pyrenees, in which this grafitti is scrawled. A thousand kilometres and a lot else besides.
I noticed the scrawl 6 years ago, the first time I walked down the Rue du Beal. I have been to Sarcelles and its presence here, in writing on an old mill wall over the Beal stream, seemed incongruous. There, '60's tower blocks cluster around concrete courtyards and the kids kick around bored, their school burnt down, job prospects low and the high point of the day is often what they can score. Here the highest thing is the tip of the steeple of St Maurice, around which two or three-storey medieval houses enclose a square dotted with acacia trees. Job prospects are low, yes, there is that.
All night the rain poured down and I thought that if I didn't catch this graffiti soon, it would completely disappear.
A cold, wet, early morning in the Rue du Beal, the market traders setting up rather desolately in the place in the centre of town, and here the remains of the presence of Sarcelles.