"That's who the photographer?
-A cousin.
I force myself to smile a little, while Lucien puts his hand on my shoulder. He whispers to me that I should have looked less stupid if I had brought a girl with me. We ask for the photo and the flash does not even make noise.
My producer then train on a tiny red carpet that runs from sidewalk to the door of the hall, ie a distance of less than two meters. We take our time to go, greeting a few fans who made the trip.
is finally here, damn. I redid an action movie Marseille. I reduced my world with a gun pump loaded with blanks and cocktails in the evening. And I have no power over anything.
"It's your time sweetie, Lucien am encouraged by pushing the door of the hall.
We enter a large room full of chairs arranged haphazardly, and I understand that this is the projection room. People already installed we applaud me and my director, while we sit down first.
My time is that of adulthood. Quit the stories of knights to concentrate on what really makes people vibrate. It is time to listen a little and you're told to stop doing your head cunt.
fuck thee not even believe yourself.
I loosened my tie a bit stuffy. Certainly, this pattern sucks. I try to resume normal breathing, with exercises sophrology of my invention. After a few breaths, hiccups takes me, and Lucien explodes with laughter.
-Be serious, a little, "he laughs.
"I'm doing everything I can to. I'm doing it.
The lights go down and the last stragglers will settle. Daylight filter a little despite the curtains drawn. Lucien rises, and a small projector held by his cousin photographer just enlighten. It begins to speak confidently of human experience and reference to genre cinema. It touts its lead actor, who has the hiccups and does not want to see this movie. Who suddenly a big doubt.
Lucien sits down beside me in heckling me a little excited as a kid. The black is almost complete, and the images start to appear on the screen. Except that I remembered the opening scene was not happening in Paris.
The grain of the image is a bit rude, and shows us the Rivoli street full of cars returned, stormed by rioters. A nasal voice comments on the action, seeming to leave the old information films for years forty. "Paris has passed the stage of mere revolt" informs us does. My
hiccup is stronger. I discovered with horror the images of protesters rushing against the military, who do not hesitate to fire on the crowd. The voice continued his speech in a tone both calm and excited, while a murmur rises from the floor.
I told Lucien that I'll have a glass of water to cure my hiccups, until he has solved the problem. I leave the room trying to ignore the images of devastation on the screen. I
returns the red carpet in the opposite direction and walk a few minutes to get lost in the streets of this city that basically I do not know so well. I finally sat on a bench and pulls my tie shit.
If I smoke a cigarette now, then stop will be an ordeal.
That is what I do. Damn, just enough balls to hand it to waste time pretending to be someone else. The only excuse is to try to be better. I will not smoke not a lifetime. My
hiccups do not let go, and gets even more insistent. I try to postpone my attention on something else: People who spend recklessly and they give off, the color of cars, the sea air imperceptible ... Patiently, I wait that Roger comes into play.
He did not take more than a few minutes. It opens at the corner and just sit quietly on the bench with me, explaining that he had a little trouble finding me. I have time to finish my cigarette without adding a single word.
By crushing my butt, I asked him why he took that nasal voice of the forties. He replied that he thought it more appropriate. I start to laugh and am stopped in my tracks by the hiccups.
-Hey, "he said, you remember when I said that I had a future where you had the Nobel Prize?
Yes.
He lifts his head to let the sun heat it. The night takes an infinite time to fall tonight, probably because I'm more used to the summer.
-I lied, Roger apologizes. Actually I'm not really here to help you become a great writer.
"You know what I like about the great writers?
-What?
"They seek the unexpected. Detail a little crazy with nothing to do in the story they tell, and yet integrates it with evidence.
-It is perhaps the shit to know everything in advance.
"Is what I am like this only happened in the future? That would be enough. Are you listening
-not really. Want to know why I'm here ?
"You know I do not care. My
hiccup becomes downright unbearable. My body is shaken by spasms of increasingly violent, and my chest burns me. There is no idea of letting annoy by such small things.
The night seems to fall in seconds. The street lights are not yet lit, and everything gets darker light speed. We suffer too much. The moments when we can act, I mean really act, are becoming scarcer as the days pass, and most of the time we do not understand. It is said that in any case there is time, and the chances will always represent.
In fact we pass for fools, and the hiccups does not help. "I started
to wander, "I said calmly, as if to make sure. You came to ask me to go back to Paris?
Roger replied in the affirmative, and I told him I agree. I noted that I do not even know why I'm back.
He is wrong. On reflection, I look back at the front for the unexpected. And the reasons for Roger, basically I have plenty of time to know them.
"It is Irving Rutherford loose there.
"I do not care.
-I thought it would be a good thing to follow, but it turned out to be someone ... I know. Wrong.
-No shit?
-You must demolish it.
"It is on the specification.
I have too many people to demolish me to continue playing poet cursed. It is no longer credible. I would tell Roger I am sure of my shot, it's one of those moments where we can act, but I'm not sure to find the strength to leave Marseille when I woke up tomorrow morning. I'm not even sure how to get up before noon. I
turns me another cigarette. Streetlights, they remain off, and I can hardly see the face of Roger in the dark. It advises me to go to bed early and not change his mind. Easy to say.
He gets up and leaves me to my sweet reverie. It's crazy but it almost made me happy to see him again this time.
I stay alone with my bench, my cigarette and my hiccups. The spasms become increasingly hot, and hot smoking soothe just the fire that gradually settles in my lungs. Strangely, all that is not unpleasant.
is the anger that comes back, and that'sa good thing. Maybe after all I get to get up before noon. Then the rest will go alone.
I looks like it was in Marseille last. I've never actually taken the time to learn about this city. I have met that bar and directors stamped. That's why I come back one day, would not only to revisit this strange movie in which I kill so many people. I have a spasm
more violent than others, and I swear that little flame out of my mouth suddenly. A bit helpless, waiting for the next hiccup will pay more attention. But nothing happens, believe that I got to the point of saturation. A gentle warmth came over me
completely now. I watch the palms of my hands, and sees some sparks crackle. I smiled realizing what it means. I
stares at a car parked across the street. After a few seconds, it ignited slowly. I do a test with a small van, and the same result.
I stretch my arms with a feeling of intense satisfaction. I unfold my body sitting for too long, and left the bench. I could continue to burn out stuff, but I fucked up enough and I should go to bed early.
I take the path of a hotel not decided. But the excitement is just my knees tremble, and I really wonder how I'll get to sleep. It is too late to buy comics.
Everything to do. Basically I have a choice between staying here and leaving, between seaside holidays and barricades. I will seek the unexpected, because the Mediterranean is really boring to die. It is never safe to make the right choice, but it should not become an excuse.
Damn it's so hard not everything goes wrong.
Note: Too many cigarettes
Soon: The people on the path
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