Petru5 says:

I tried to translate all well as I can, but my English is far as perfect… First, this one of five short movies was produced by French government and the screenplays were choosing in a contest, and it was broadcasted on French TV.
***
Omar leaves home, saying his mother he’s going to play football (soccer). He is crossing his moaning father (accusing him and his mates to have disorder the elevator), and the mother of Morad who tells Omar to be tough with her son (fan of Buffon, the goalkeeper from Italy team).
Down the building, a young girl asks him: “Hey Omar, what I say to my sister for this weekend?”
Omar answer: “She pisses me off! When I say: no, it’s: no”.
He meets his mates on the bench and Morad is talking (in slang) about a girl, Coralie, saying he wants to fuck her too much. Omar: “In your dreams…”
Murad says she made anything (and everything) and compares that to what there is in the Greek sandwich (with dirty details about the missing “white sauce”).
Kevin (the guy with headphone, brother of Coralie) asks them what they are talking about and they answer it’s about cooking.
They argue a bit. Morad: “Her mother is not his mother.” Kevin: “Why is he giving lessons this Arab who thinks he is an Italian?” “One all” concludes Morad, “anyway your sister is a big b…” and he takes the ball on his face.
Morad: “Bastard! You hurt me!” The others: “He gets you!”
Omar: “What’s the matter? You are never on your one’s guard. How many time must I telling that? Look at your rotten gloves! You believe winning with it?”
Morad:” So what? I am not alone on field.”
Omar: “Let’s go guys. Give me the ball”
***
They are one the way. Kevin: “Hey buddies, what does it smell? It smells like girl, but it isn’t quite, in the same time. Some thing unfinished. Hey Arthur, do you want to take a turn with us on football field? You can make a pom-pom boy dance… like: Morad! Morad!”
Morad: “All he knows is to smell the queer’s arse.”
When Arthur turns his way, Kevin: “That’s it, push off dirty slut! Go pollute another sidewalk!” and Omar slap the ball on his face.
***
On the field, when Omar have a phone call: “Continue without me, I’ll be back later.”
Murad: “Aïcha (Arabic feminine first name) will be happy!”
***
In the parking place, Omar: “Sorry for just now.”
Arthur: “As usual… How long have you got?”
Omar: “I think it grows well” He reads: “Concentrated since hours on my notebook, with fixing eyes, to be sure of the rhyme, without sham, strolling on words, meeting them, matching them up.” [In French: “Concentré des heures sur mon carnet, les yeux rivés, être sûr de la rime, sans frime, flâner sur les mots, les rencontrer, les accorder.”]
Arthur: “Yes, it’s good. But, in the beginning, I would have use: to anchor, rather: to fix. The eyes anchored on the notebook.”
Omar: “Yes, it’s good. (He notices) And you, what have you wrote?”
Arthur: “Something it pleases your mates…”
Omar: “You’re silly…”
Arthur (reading): “I am like that! And despite of everybody thinks of it, I love my preference. On the gangway of invectives, he is present and pretends… However, this lover agent rejoins me in a hurry, like a loving lover. It is not to late yet, Omar, to quit your posture, and loving me, outside of the walls.” [In French: “Je suis comme ça ! et malgré tout ce qu’on en pense, je kiffe (slang) ma préférence. Dans la coursive aux invectives, il est présent et fait semblant… et pourtant, cet agent amant me rejoint d’un pas pressant, comme un amant aimant. Il n’est pas encore trop tard, Omar, pour quitter ta posture, et m’aimer, hors les murs.”]
Omar (standing up): “Stop it, I don’t want you’re speaking about that!”
Arthur: “Wait, what’s the problem?”
Omar: “Fuck, it’s useless.”
Arthur: ”Why is it useless? And the only useful thing is what you say in your slam, that’s it?”
Omar: “Imagine if somebody find your notebook… I don’t want to have the entire district against me. I don’t want to be like you. I don’t want to hear…”
Arthur (cutting him): “All the dirty words you and your mates let out on my face? What do you think? I don’t want too, hearing that. I don’t want to hear it anymore. For that, what can I do? I must avoid going out at particular hours? I have to looking for others ways for not meeting you? Until I have to change of sidewalk. Fuck! Omar, and in addition, I would stop writing what I like to write? That’s it? No. You know why? Because I love these moments, here, out of sight. Where I don’t want to miss any of our rendezvous. (Omar smile) What’s up?”
Omar: “Your last sentence…”
Arthur: ”So what my last sentence?”
Omar: “I would have use: date, rather: rendezvous.”
Arthur: “Fuck, Omar! You bust my ass.”
The kiss…
***
The father: “A fairy son! No, I don’t want to be cool! I feel I’m going to kill him! In the district, do you realize? When I leave the house, every body looks at me… It’ a shame. (To the mother:) Shut up you! Look at me! I said. I don’t want to hear anymore what I have heard. I don’t want anybody looks at me like they have looked at me. Now you have to do like all your mates! And you have to make lie all of them. And now get out.”
***
Omar (voice off): “From the top of my tower, everything cracks around me. I stay alone with the unspeakable, unacceptable, unnameable… I didn’t steal, I didn’t kill, but I am a queer. From myself, a single ticket without return; from my window, the hereafter the towers. Exposed to sharp looks in my district, I prefer protect myself of it, refusing to be locked in my district, to hear the insidious venom words on my way. So, bitter, I leave that beloved land…”
Morad: “Omar! Brand new equipment! What is he doing?”
Sylvain: “Sit down! Are you queer too? Buffoon…”
Omar (voice off): “Deprived of leniency, mother and father, I let you paralysed with certitude. So here I am in prospective for an away in prospect. I leave my posture and walk outside to Arthur. I am like that! And despite of everybody thinks of it, I love my preference.”
[In French: “Du haut de ma tour, tout autour de moi se fend. Je reste seul avec l’inqualifiable, l’inacceptable, l’innommable… Je n’ai pas volé, je n’ai pas tué, mais je suis un pédé. De mon être : un aller sans retour ; de ma fenêtre : un au-delà des tours. Exposé au regard acéré de ma cité, je préfère m’en garder, refuser d’être enfermé dans mon quartier, d’entendre insidieux les mots venins sur mon chemin. Alors, amer, je quitte cette terre qui m’est si chère. Dépourvus de mansuétude, mère et père, je vous laisse perclus de certitude. Me voilà donc en prospective pour un ailleurs en perspective. Je quitte ma posture et marche hors les murs vers Arthur. Je suis comme ça ! et malgré tout ce qu’on en pense, je kiffe ma préférence."]
***
Morad: “What are we doing now?”