Two dogs Rue Ste-Catherine, sunny afternoon in spring. Before a trade, a youth is seated on the ground. Studded leather jacket, piercings eyebrows, the nose. Uncombed hair, who have not seen a comb for a very long time. The young beggar, a small container in front of him. "To eat." A big beige dog stands beside him. Taut leash, he eats kibble in a bowl. He eats everything, then sits next to his master. The young look to the east. He expects someone. Two meters away, a young woman dressed with care, makeup flawless, is also a small white dog on a leash. It holding the leash casually, a cigarette in the other hand, his tight leather bag under his arm. She also expects someone. She looks to the west. The dog moves toward the big, waving his tail. The bulk of the home the same way. Both dogs fraternizing. Not the masters.
The sad angel extreme When she draws, it is always the same figure that emerges in his pencil. An angel. An angel, crouched, wings folded, her hair falling on her face. A sad angel, who is injured, a projectile murderer. This angel is probably it. History Melissa, I heard dozens of times. Mentally ill father, mother submitted, temper tantrums at home, sexual abuse. She was the oldest. It protected his brother and sister. They had all learned the lesson number one in the house: do not make noise. Spinning cloth. Melissa spent her childhood in spinning cloth. It turned into little mouse. In high school, the little mouse was not very popular, obviously. She has been put away, we laughed at her, she was spat at. few months ago, Melissa found herself in jail. She freaked out when its owner, who continued pressing its advances, has found her half naked. She took a kitchen knife, he was asked about the throat and threatened to kill him. And now she tries to escape. She attends a body of St. Jerome, Here through the arts. A room full of colors makes for marginals as she trippent painting, sculpture, theater. Melissa, therefore, draws angels. Maybe his pen and with a little help, one day, they manage to unfold their wings.
Marc Lardin is psycho. For fifteen years he works with most clients poquées. Ex-offenders, addicts. His specialty projects "extreme." Dicey business with a clientele at high risk. As this trip, organized two years ago, with eight young addicts. Addicts, there is agreement, not with the small stock: crack, cocaine, amphetamines. Marc took these eight young people aged 20, 25, who drank for years. They all had behavior problems, enormous social problems. He was taken to a cottage, surrounded by nature. No access possible to dope. Everyone has his weaning surrounded by greenery. He gave English classes, workshops, personal development, but also navigation. Because after these fifteen weeks in a small cottage, young people went to sail in the Gulf of St. Lawrence for nearly two months. They sailed on the Bay of Chaleur, landed in the Magdalen Islands, Sydney, Nova Scotia. "They sailed, but they mostly negotiated," Mark laughs by recounting their adventure. "When it farted, it was picking up everything." And it was Marc, of course, as the only adult involved on the boat, who "picked up everything." Marc, a rock of calm, strength, firmness quiet. Cool , but demanding. Sympathetic, but candid. "People know that I will tell them if their business did not make sense." After 23 weeks of cohabitation, negotiation, adventure, the lives of these young people has been transformed. "They managed to stop consumption. All they found a purpose in life. It was a success, "said Marc. A young returned to school. The other became a restaurant manager. Marc strongly believes that such experience, "Striking", helps to give these young people what they missed in their early childhood that their parents were never able to give them: the feeling of being loved. "If they were plunged back in a severe, they will learn. If they are bombarded with challenges, energy can be successfully reprogrammed. " If Marc did his master's degree in psychoeducation, it would be his subject. Cursed beautiful subject. And for the boat, I'll tip my hat aloft, Marc.
