Summer 2016, Paris, refugees are camping in the Stalingrad district while waiting to regularize their situation. The film follows the daily life of Stalingrad district, a fron-tier-space in the heart of Paris. A physical labyrinth added to the bureaucratic labyrinth already in place – the city turns away. Controls, round-ups, police raids, fencing. How to make room, be collective? How can you live in a space that prevents you from existing? The film maps out the ordeal: water points, dark corners, isolated parks, Ping-Pong tables to cook on. By trying to survive in the street, a collective emerges and coexistence settles in. From out of the group, we hear the voice of Souleymane, a young refugee from Darfur whose poems mingle with the filmmaker’s voice-over. Souleymane walks around, wanders off, gets lost, re-appears and talks. As the film tracks the itineraries in Paris, another journey takes shape: fragmented stories evoke Libya, Vintimille, Calais. Echoes of a shared journey, whereas Paris repels and divides. From Stalingrad to the city ring roads, bodies end up isolated on the outskirts. Souleymane leaves the group, the camera follows him, a solitary escape. The collective breaks up, disappears from the frame, but the film exists as the memory of a place, Stalingrad, where it was a matter of surviving together.