Who could endure a world in which, on a Tuesday evening in February 2011 in the Paris Metro, on the seat opposite, we hear a woman cry ( murmur , thinks she probably) in his gadget, headset screwed into the pavilion:
"... Yes, I know we never take ourselves head ...
... Yeah, is true that likes to fuck all, but ... "
- but since it happens at this point to its destination, it rises without stop trying to mitigate it lifts the latch as you slap a blister, as flushed as if she was canceling an order at La Redoute, with still a little face for the camera dock, you never know ...
What human being could ever wish to live in this world of dolls Pat and Walt , perhaps even worse?
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