More like "in the province", because this place holds nothing of Provence's romance and stillness. Here, mineral water comes cheap, (especially the bubbly one) and neighbors listen to very loud dance music. The paper writes about yet another armed robbery and a gunman held by the police. People get together in the local parliament and vote as agreed, news are cast in like daily repeatings of a single person (the boss, tall guy with bad teeth and a very white golfing hat). Tomorrow's events are programmed without much interest. I pass by an old lady on my street. She stands in her door, ripping the crust of a ripe peach. She wants me to have some. I'm surprised she recognizes me after so much time. Or does she? |
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