Saturday, September 11, 2004


Let myself be seduced by unorganised yet productive free time yesterday: time to kill made into time to hunt. Oh, the spoils.

Bruxelles-Chapelle/Brussels-Kapellekerke train station, base of operations of Recyclart. Underneath the tracks, an art gallery. As I take pictures, a passer-by engages in art criticism: "Beautiful, isn't it? The true artists of the 21st century!" I'm tempted to make a snide comment such as "Yes, they did make this in the 21st century," but refrain.

There's a low-level fear of getting jacked, but it's a bit early for that (9 PM). A more real peril are the cars that appear with little notice, as these pictures are taken from the middle of the street. A little living never hurt anyone, though.

The demi-monde atmosphere is reinforced when an old car pulls out of a next-door junk yard and clambers atop a tow truck, but not before having spewed out cubic metres of smoke, percluding further shooting for sanitary and visibility reasons.

Bruxelles-Midi/Brussels-Zuid train station. A clean modern rail overpass, gleaming white, bordered with blue lights, greets international travellers. Walk underneath and smell the piss, observe the bums. A few streets away, North African men congregate in cafés that will never be deemed hip. No women in sight at all. A bit further down, Angolians discuss at a Portugese café. It's nice hearing some portugese spoken. Will they pop into the X-rated cinema (3 screens!) a few doors down?