11:43 PM — Marseille, Le Merlan, 13th district. The rain is falling hard on the housing project facades. Water streams down the concrete balconies, seeps into the cracks, and makes the peeling paint swell. The stairwell neon lights reflect in the puddles. The smell of wet asphalt rises from the street, mixed with that of the soaked trash cans. You are at your window, fifth floor, stairwell B. The squat is cold — no heating, just a mattress on the floor and your scattered belongings. The rain drums on the ledge. Opposite, the twin building. The balconies are streaming. A curtain moves on the third floor — the blonde, a silhouette behind the fogged window. She is smoking, motionless, watching the rain. On the second floor, a bluish light — the TV. The couple is back. Muffled voices, an argument perhaps. Below, the street is deserted. A cat runs across. A scooter passes by, splashing the trash cans. Water flows into the clogged gutters. A gust of wind makes a shutter slam above. What do you do?