People don’t believe us when we tell them we are volunteers. They ask us how much we are paid. One of them leans over the table with a knowing look and asks me:

– Come on, tell me what stupid thing you did to end up here!

It’s getting dark.

My model today: Didi and his big dog Patou, Patou is two and a half years old. Didi is happy to have his picture drawn, especially of his dog with himself. He wants me to take a detailed portrait of him and his dog. I promise to do it at home, from a photo.

Didi was also a volunteer at the Restos du Cœur, two years ago. He is of Yugoslav origin. I ask him where his family is. I’m not sure if I understood his answer because of the street noise. Apparently, in 2009 he lost his relatives during the war and had to flee the country. After arriving in France, he travelled a lot. He was everywhere, on every continent of the world. He used to beg in airports, and people helped him to buy tickets. He did odd jobs, and when he ran out of money, he left the country. I ask him where he felt most at home.

– Nowhere. That’s why I came back.

He has a piercing on his lip. He has one in his cap too. I look to see if the dog is wearing one, but no. Didi smokes one cigarette after another, and I draw in clouds of his smoke. He smiles at me.

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