Blue

I went to the prefectural office today to pick up my new French ID card. Things went smoothly without problems unlike when we had applied for it two months earlier in the same building. As soon as I got my card, I left and took a bus to return home.
The bus, leaving the administrative center, entered an immigrants' neighborhood dominated by dreary apartment blocks and dusty boulevards where it became quickly filled up with Arab and African passengers. As there is nothing to see or do in this isolated corner of Nice, its inhabitants take crowded buses everyday to go to work, to do shopping or to find some entertainment in the city center.
From a baby to burkha-clad grandmothers, they were of all ages and numerous, talking in their own tribal tongues. A group of black youths sneaked in through the rear door without paying the fares. An old Arab man in a shabby, second-hand suit looked at them disapprovingly. Kids preoccupied with their mobile phones and the baby burst into a shrill cry. Who are these people? Why are they here? I wondered. Then, a depressing thought came to me: Am I not, in fact, one of them?
The bus turned a corner onto a busy boulevard lined with palm trees, shops, restaurants and condos. The air inside the bus became stiflingly hot even with the windows opened. It was a gorgeous spring day. I took off my jacket and looked out the window. Between the receeding buildings, I glimpsed the brilliant blue of the Mediterranean Sea. The kind of blue which would make you think you are near heaven.