Chez François Villon, Brussels, Belgium, circa 1985. In Ixelles, « Chez François Villon » was a pub just like any other. Except that it sat between the university and the cemetery, quickly putting some perspective into the meaning of life, and that for a students’ pub, these weren’t even the die-hards. Aside from the Saint–Verhaegen, the “Villon”, that was us. We lived there ; our adventures, our friendships, our crazy antics, sometimes our love stories were born and died there, in the thick heady warmth of the woodwork steeped in tobacco, beer, tears and laughter.
À Ixelles, « Chez François Villon » n’était qu’un bistrot comme les autres. Sauf qu’il se situait entre l’université et le cimetière, histoire de vous donner rapidement le sens de la vie, et que, pour un bistrot estudiantin, les étudiants n’en constituaient pas le noyau dur. En dehors de la Saint-Verhaegen, « le Villon », c’était nous. Nous l’habitions ; nos aventures, nos amitiés, nos quatre cents coups, nos amours parfois, naissaient et mourraient là, dans l’épaisse chaleur des boiseries imprégnées de tabac, de bière, de larmes et de rires.
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