"cross the city where the night leaves
And I figure my chances of reaching THE
morning hot air rolled up like a sheet of satin
deserted on the stairs, my soles resonate.
ascend to meet the classic couch
without sleep in the hope, nestled among pillows,
Clarity something dirty, imprecise, in the morning,
The time of reunion with automatic gestures;
The day tired eyes that hurt,
The three bowls of coffee and a heart that beats
The wear a garment whose touch irritated skin
half asleep, newspaper headlines,
humans who get in the Invalides Metro,
's thighs secretaries, the laughter of technical
The looks they are released, such that a dogfight
making movements around an empty center. "
(Michel Houllebecq)
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