EXTRACT FROM THE BOOK

All night yesterday, the feeling of a man walked. In his forties. Tired, he blossomed. I tried to discern a face. He was coming, not in a hurry. Steady and equal steps: he had come again. A passage that immobilized the flies in the air.

I couldn’t see the face. I only saw his joints, not the eyes. Just that he was spotlessly clean, even though he was on fire. He knew that we knew he was coming and that we were looking at him, and this added height to him.

His clothes were linen and slightly wrinkled at the crotch. He doesn’t have a mobile phone. They discuss him. He drinks from single-flower vases that he turns upside down.

Ladies and gentlemen. At the threshold, August. The month we shed our skin.