I'm 16 and Alain is 18.
I've forgotten everything for him:
family, friends, morality, studies.
We don't care about the future.
We live in the present,
and we are perfectly happy.
We believe neither in God nor in man,
only in us.
Our love is light and full of fantasy.
It's the toy of two enfants terribles.
People envy our happiness.
My friends can't believe it.
They want to know my trick.
I tell them: "It's very simple,
"a mutual freedom."
We often cheat on each other.
Then we get back together,
to our home port.
They are horrified.
"Aren't you jealous?
"This is vice. These are dangerous liaisons.
"You don't love each other."
My parents say I am crazy.
Alain tells me: "Never mind.
"You live with me, "and not with them."
And you, Mrs Segal, what do you think about it ?
Signed: Avant-garde.
The answer.
I want to know: who supports you?
Who puts food on your plate and buys your dresses?
Who gives you your weekly allowance?
Who pays for your holidays?
And for your studies, which you don't pursue?
Alain? No, he doesn't worry about such details.
They're much too mundane for him.
While mom and dad are at work to provide for you,
what do the two of you do?
You play with love,
like 2 kids with a firearm.
And you laugh at the people warning you,
saying you could get hurt.
You believe in nothing, in nobody,
only in yourselves,
two poor, thoughtless, show off kids.
Two empty little heads, buzzing with fancy words.
Two idiots.
Poor inconsistent little ones.
Inconsistent?
Not quite.
You have something very consistent,
down your backside!