V

When the day grew late, a simple diner was quickly and unceremoniously devoured and washed down with plenty of spirits. As it would get dark, he would get up, collect some secret objects in a linen bag and start walking about. The footbridge over the river connected the campsite directly to the town’s centre. He would walk directionless and freely, just to see what can be seen. To be in a French town at night, smell the night air, watch the shades and reflections, the shopping windows, the graffiti, couples holding hands, three girls out on the town… moonlit lives. Back on the square, he’d observe the night folk, the carrousel covered up in red & white plastic and the illuminations on the town hall and eighteenth century buildings… He’d look at the stars and conjured visions... before slowly meandering back to the tent.

There’s the Place du Gare again, with that ghastly statue of the old devil. We was here before, we was, we was... Ay, t’was a fine and a pleasant day… Singing! Pussy meow, come on now, I’ve got sweet white milk oh wow… Bats and praises, hell and raises! Enough of that, be quiet now. Act normal. Make a left here, and follow the trail of the optometrists. Past the Le Rimbaud Café, past the Le Shanghai Restaurant, the fountain and straight to the square to sit us down and think. See us now, oh Evil One… Oh my love… Over the hills & down in the valley. We is just pretending of course. We amuse no one but us. We is so alone. A died down footstep in an empty, dank basement.  Crushed gravel and dead flies. Nature throws itself on us and will tear us apart, of that there is no doubt. She and her helpers will be the better of us. Dead wind will blow over mirror speckled country roads… moss on island tombs.