I'm with a young woman. She is giving a kind of concert in an underground parking garage that has been converted into a concert hall. It's a new kind of concert. She's a megastar. She, or I, is supposed to read a poem. She cries, sobs. The audience is spellbound. She can do anything. The text is in French. She misreads herself constantly. Then she sings and goes through the audience. The very young fans sing along. They are enthusiastic. I go upstairs with the singer via a back exit and we enter the auditorium from the back. The audience is still singing and I wonder how they will react when the singer reappears. I walk behind her and sing along. I am completely overwhelmed by the energy of everyone singing my song. A fan plants a kiss on the singer's blond hair. You can see the imprint. A young man is very aggressive and sprays her with paint. She puts up with it. Like a masochist. I ask her whether she indulges in this kind of behaviour here as well. I feel her. She says she's going to finish the concert now. We get to the front door. A. opens it for us. He is wearing make-up. I'm proud that he sees me with the singer. D. is also there. They open the door for us. I say to the singer: “D. is here too.” We walk on, R. comes out of a door and examines the singer.