My name is Rachid (the one who designates God), 63 years old, my home is the streets. I have just spent years in a hospital where I thought I would die. Yet no one came to my bedside. Since childhood the lack of love and rejection seem to haunt me ... I thought I had finished with a beautiful wedding and children ... What a disappointment! I lost all my fortune, no one wanted me anymore. A poor man is no longer worthy of interest in this world. My wife took the house and threw me out. Neither she nor the children ever wanted to see me or even care about me. The street has become my home, the cobblestones, the earth, the sidewalks, my bed, the sky, my roof. Loneliness is now my only companion with the sadness that accompanies it. So I lift my eyes to the highest heavens and I launch my prayers every day, fervent, burning, like calls for help, breaking through this invisible glass ceiling between us and the unspeakable ... And I can see Him and Him speak: "My God, save me from here!"