Trafika Europe 12 - French Bon-Bons

Louis Armand

hanging by at her side. ‘It just isn’t.’ Her gaze was without any direction. There’s something wrong with her , I thought. And then: She’s blind!? I edged backwards down the steps away from her. When she was out of view I turned and took the rest of the stairs three at a time, running. When I got the courtyard I was out of breath. I stood there panting. My hands shook. What the hell are you doing? ‘Something wrong, citizen?’ a voice said. Standing only a metre away from me, smoking a cig- arette, was a woman with extremely broad shoulders and a gigantic bosom. She wore a loose white coat over a light blue uniform. I backed away, my throat all of a sudden like sandpaper. ‘No, not at all. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.’ I hurried out of the building onto the street without looking back, Volta’s prescription clutched in my damp fist. An hour later, back in my apartment, another bot- tle of pills sitting on the table. I swallowed as many as I could and sat there waiting for something to happen. The blind girl’s face kept hovering there in front of me. The man’s laughter. The emptiness of the waiting room and the emptiness of my apartment. Go home , the laughter said. Go home. There isn’t any meat today.

202