Canailles. The common people, the folk. Folk music is the heart of the crowd, the beating muscle that pumps shared culture through the streets. And when “Manger Du Bois” is that heart, the blood is boiling, the heart beat is quick with lust and sweat, cheeks are flushed as the dance moves to a relentless tempo. Whiskey and beer flow endlessly, clouds of smoke announce the purpose of the coloured lights above the wooden dance floor. A stolen kiss with lucid lips under saturated eyes embeds itself in the blur of memory. There is a wildness here that refuses to be tamed: the traveler who works for food. These songs are the dance when the work is done, the descent into complete exhaustion and earned sleep.