At night the eyes returnto chaopolitan Pigalle,its bright explicit boulevards,those jagged unlit backstreets,women lean and watch. The Boulevard de Rochechouartsizzles at a billion amps;the median strip’s a circusof dodgem cars and hardcore‘New York Nights’. Down Islam towna thousand gazes slice,trinketry lures,trestle tables stacked with denimjam the pavement. At night the eyes returnto one sure face in shadows petalled;by day the lodged hooks stay –a certain calf-curve stockingedsends the mind into a zone of scents. Anaerobic violencecirculates beneath the skin, and therethe background dreamkeeps running.