Paris unfolds before my eyes and I drown in its sad gloom.

Faces, gestures, telling stories lost in the void of the temporal space of subway commuting.The harshness of the ordinary.The Paris-Île-de-France of métro-boulot-dodo—commute, work, sleep—is made up of endless buildings, anonymous, undefined, impersonal; of strangers we pass without ever seeing.Each encounter rekindles a musical memory in me, and that melody becomes the guiding thread—the tempo that shapes the perception of each photo.

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