A forest of trees, little time, I can’t run… between the trees, a clearing and a runway, a plane loading something, a distant scream, someone shouting, giving orders. Minutes and several shots have already gone off; it bounced off, and another one smashed against the propeller, fate always favors it, shouts and gunfire from behind; it’s thrown and gone. They arrived, they made it, some of the bad guys are just left to sweep up and dustpan. From the plane, screams and cries for help. They said, “If not Egypt, then what, then which…” Not a single shot was fired in their direction by the Services that arrived. They freed everyone, everyone, some simply from an excess of worries and excess skin, inevitably freed by fate. And they wrote to play dice with death. It’s impossible to sleep, doze, loneliness, constant images, faces… some only remember faces and sleep… some don’t wake up at all.
