To be someone else. As those who drink too much the night and were aware of their intoxication claimed as a fine living. I was hoping to replay the moments when he had to speak, and almost everything was done in search of another. When surprised if I understand, it feels that life for us and it calculates that the results agree at last. When it was the purity of the hopes and achievements, the innocence of waiting for nothing and hasten the time to do all our rhythms give discrete, our daily beats, which belongs to us and sometimes found echo expected. That's what I called love and we have different loves.
Do not make me fall.
She looks in the corner, the corner of the world where it is located is swept his gaze. It will eventually get up, he folds the corner of his jacket. A corner, that's where people sit who know what to do without knowing what to do. You sit in a corner? they ask. Ok! they respond. The beauty of the area is often because that is the same corner. And most people find themselves in this kind of corner. The prettiest corner. Otherwise there are corners where nobody goes: I must say the old corners, the corners that make you want to leave. But there, in fact, it was not really a corner. It was the bridge. The bridge is a kind of corner if you will, but rather exclusively for imaging film. And this bridge there, it was good: the Pont des Arts, Bridge students. And he had a camera. On the bridge of the arts. He even pushed his role to put two different colored socks, one blue and one green. The originality, nonconformity may be, the claim of a distracted personality who is not doing things. But finally, they were only socks! That's what she said with her eyes. Then he rose, he put his jacket, took his camera and his wallet and he did not go to the Rue Bonaparte. He went to the back of everything, turned Châtelet and she did not want to follow.
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