On Wednesday night, the day before a long weekend, those four long-waited days. All the metro-7 passengers are a little excited at the thought of those little holiday.
The wagon is noisy, each one tells his little story to his neighbour.
And suddenly two men enter, they stand next to the automatic door, and start talking. Instead of the expected extra hubbub, the language used by these silence contributors is the sign one.
A happiness to watch them move their hands, smile to their gestures, agree and answer lively.
A happiness when we know that in this same wagon, almost ten languages were spoken at the same time : the language of the Parisians, the one of the foreigners who live in Paris, the one of the tourists visiting the capitale… and the sign language so universal, like a Babel Tower in this Parisian microcosm, this little piece of world in the middle of the wagon of the metropolitan.