Animated photo Emmanuel Pierrot
There is no time, no date, but what's the point of thinking about it. We could be at Easter, All Saints' Day, Saint-Jean, 1st January that he wouldn't care. It is hung on the steering wheel like a bunch of thyme on a Levantine rock. In the drizzle that waxes the highway, he reassures himself by rolling a large Samson cylinder on his knee. With one hand, the right. It makes a little rustling of tobacco on his discarded jeans.
He humbly drives like an old messenger that he is. His old Ford whines like a faithful, submissive beast. In another life, he proudly tamed a German sedan. Straight like an i on the leather of the ebony seats. "Plus plus" bank card hung on the sun visor. Hugo Boss as a uniform. Sure of the contracts he was going to sign. He was the trader of all possibilities. Life in Gold, from her bank accounts to the tip of her Westons. We feared him as much as we admired him in the high towers of
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