Yesterday, I was half asleep on the armchair we put on the balcony, when strange noises woke me up. I got up and saw those kids playing loudly in the dumpsters.
I thought it was kind of fun. Not the fact of playing with rubbish bins, of course, but this particular atmosphere I used to know when I was a kid, growing up in a small countryside village, playing around with other kids until nightfall, sometimes even later.
We used to invent some games we were the only ones to know the rules for. In some cases, those games could have even been dangerous, like the one those kids were playing yesterday: entering the dumpsters, closing the sliding lid behind them and screaming as loud as they could, then getting out, choosing some piece of trash to throw away, bursting out laughing…
Yeah, that doesn’t sound very clever indeed. But I thought it sounded fun… until some angry woman yelled at them. Of course, the day was very peaceful: the boys clearly bothered her and probably some other - less talkative - inhabitants.
They ran away, laughing again, screaming loudly, as if they were the Lost Boys of James Barrie’s Peter Pan. I couldn’t do anything but smile.
However, that’s not the kind of scene you’ll get to see at night. At night, there’s nothing here but silence and shadows. Even kids know that the monster living in the garden won’t let them do.