A fragment of time spent alongside the Pigalle's players. The time of a game, the time of a victory. Through their faces I remember their voices and their laughs. But even more the noise of the rubber which meets the ground, the noise of the lost balls.
The Pigalle’s basketball court is a tryst place when the Parisian youthhood wants to meet in the street. The game is for these young people a pretense to be with others and to share with them. They don’t come from the same district and sometimes they have nothing in common but the game.
Here is where the diversity of Paris can meet. Exploring different cultures, different langages and different personalities. Everybody gets his own role, step by step, forging his temper within the group.
And the souls getting closer through the match. And when defeat comes there is solace. And when victory comes there is bliss.
This place is for me a beautiful tryst place with respect and sharing. When the street is becoming home.