I'm squatting illegally in Paris in an art commune

The onion is a layered vegetable, best chopped from the side and into slices. As Francois quietly explained the commune life to us in the kitchen of his squat, he calmly pulled the sticky onion skin from the knife and rubbed it between his fingers into a pile. This place is illegal, he told us, but we do have an agreement with the landlord.
"yes, the government forbids it," he says. "But we do pay the landlord for this place. The judge told us we could stay till August."
Jaja, a Senegalese immigrant, lives elsewhere in Paris, but comes to the squat daily to hang out. No one ever really knows who is going to show up, which is how we came to live illegally in a Paris squat.
"This is your key," Clara, our host, says. "Make sure you only use the keyhole on the top, the bottom one doesn't work. Oh, and the shower, you have to use the screwdriver to turn it on, it's really broken. You can make coffee in the morning, the italian coffee maker is best since we never wash it."
Francois slices the last of the onion into a pile of finely chopped pieces.
"Maybe you will make us dinner tomorrow night," he says. "I hope you sleep well."