213 292
215
Joy
or hide and go seek. Life, little
by little, returns to normal,
deep down each person asks
only for that.
14
We are cruising with the
windows down. Ange tells
me about his last boxing
match: it all comes from the
legs, even the power of your
punches, evenyourmentality,
everything; if your feet move
well, really well, everything
else follows. I sense him at
my sides, sense that he wants
to keep striking, jumping,
dodging, and striking again.
It’s far from over with him.
There is some traffic in Paris,
maintaining speed despite
the delivery trucks and taxis
is a different fight. The bus
lanes are like accelerating
lanes, it’s important to know
when to take your chance, the
competition in it is severe. I’m
confined by a cyclist who’s
claiming his right to saunter
about, nose in the air, in the
midst of all of the fighters. I
brush past him, overtake him,
and find him in my rearview
mirror, suddenly rigid. I ask
Ange who his adversary is
and he jumps on my question
like he was jumping on him.
“Some black idiot, I made
him swallow his pride. You
should have seen him at the
end, back at square one, on
the floor, blood streaming
out of his nose – end of the
Black Power!” I tell him that
I no longer have time to drop
him off. “No big deal,” he
responds, “I’ll go with you
and be your assistant. By the
way, who’s your client?” It’s
the biggest French alcohol
brand. I sold them a new
concept for an event; I’ll
introduce Ange as a partner.
The north highway is empty
this afternoon, we devour the