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life back to normal

Il décolle the price tags on the shelves and clears the dishes piled up, boxes for packing, food - of soft things with the sauce - and flyers at the door. Like every morning. One last look at the apartment on the old chair, it is still warm, the cat sleeps on it, and he descends the stairs, avoiding cigarette butts.

tumbling into the street, in the subway. A current of air, a chill in the breakdown. Oh people, hello people! Push girls to double bag. Yeah, there are always girls with two bags in the subway, one for the vintage store portfolio, the notebook pocket and a pistol and another, larger and slipped under the shoulder, whose sole function seems to be coming inevitably sink into a hill, a chin, or anything fuck who else in its path. She'll move it. No, I will not ask forgiveness. Pushes people, pushing assholes in their shells. In their frames there are pieces of metal he did not, in their silhouettes transparencies he does not see in their destination routes that are not hers.
Grows elbow, pushes briefcases, attachés-cases, pushes busy lives and go from 11.30 brainstorming around the coffee machine (with soup? with tomato?), pushes the dirty paper in his shoe, earth scraper and dig the ground, blowing the dust off his sleeve, no more breath, cleans a foot shy of the chewing gum stuck, gets rid of the newspaper which was attached, a quick glance at the headlines, is his idea of the situation. And looks into the void. Like everyone else. Wait. That the train arrives, the movement runs out, there is more than double bags and more shells, more of headlines in the newspapers, only one horse at the other end of the dock and grass that cut off his face. Cars without passengers pass under the neon light lead. The interconnections are interrupted at the Gare Saint-Lazare. Failure on the network.

Leave him be, let it slide. Nobody touches him, that nobody rubs. There is voltage, then the high voltage signal. It's going to jump, it will do damage, bite by ricochet, the danger is never where one expects. But no, haha, no worries, there is nothing, nothing much resigned bouncing around without causing collateral damage, the rattle that comes in a smooth finish vague impatience, anger that is long gone, the enervation that run in a loop on one foot, snot plastered into the fold of the wrist. The first to vomit clean.