Quelques miettes pour les oiseaux

The place is called Ruwayshid. A small Jordanian town in a rocky no man’s land… the last town before the Iraqi border. The filmmaker stops off there and plays a song that he has picked up on his travels to the locals. The men there sell jerry cans of petrol on the roadside. A few girls work as hostesses in a small bar. It is less of a town than a cluster of houses, a place of transit and somewhere to escape from. An almost temporary place inhabited just long enough for a few tales, a little music… men and women on the move, ready to scatter again like a flock of birds.