November 2014, Paris 6th arrondissement – Hôtel Baume.
In room 45 there was a commode that I did my best not to look at, because the bottle was delicately placed in one of the drawers. For me, the smell of it – one I tried to keep far away – made my spirit turn in a way it shouldn’t each time I passed by and caught even the slightest whiff.
Nevertheless, my veins started to slowly and preciously distil the divine venom. The metamorphosis had already started to come into effect, the refrain rose and turned, contained by the silky bedlinen before slowly disappearing into the delicious darkness. Good God! What a trying field of work I had chosen!
Then I felt the rhythm of the hands of the clock advancing inexorably, and my worried eye searched for the sunken melody like a wave in the sand. To make her come back, I can breathe again, and again, and tonight I will probably be dead drunk…
But now here is the memory again, soft and sleepwalking… A delicious harmony!