When I wake up it"s still dark. I’ve slept badly, just for a change. My joints feel rusty and I have a taste of rancid meat in my mouth. I’m a fossil, a regurgitation of the Pleistocene. I should be in a display case instead of a bed. I decide to have breakfast out. I barely manage to put something on and go out. At this hour, inside the bar, there’s just prostitutes and truck drivers who are joking and waving big chapped hands. I order a coffee. The lights behind the counter make the bottles sparkle. I reach out, grab a croissant. The bartender looks sideways at me. She is not very sociable, the kind that makes you not want to stay. She has a kind of green cap on her head. I chew and watch her go from one side of the room to the other. I see my image reflected in the mirror. I look dazed
