Do you remember when you were a young artist in Montmartre, but already greatly appreciated by galleries and art lovers? the critics trembled in front of your works and you were transparent in your body and soul, transparent and unbiased. you still have from those days the beret that she lost when you devoured her lips as they were a strawberry and the red of your cheeks: oh yes, flamboyant cheeks for having been so daring, but also because of that burgundy that you sipped shamelessly. do you remember those huge eyes of yours, made even larger by eyeliner, which have always put you in danger, all the more so in Paris, the city of arts, of temptation and of beautiful stories to tell? you are always the same, incorrigible and transparent.