Once again, we will close all the doors.
At 6 p.m. every day?
The weekend?
The whole week?
Day and night?
The grueling and absurd countdown to Thursday night's press conference has begun.
Tired bodies, worn-out minds, raw nerves, our fellow citizens have learned to understand even before we speak to them.
The equation is simple: English variant + cold wet winter = confinement, a little, a lot or passionately.
A simple word that covers a thousand hassles, from tiny practical worries to the vertigo of ruin, through the discreet but real suffering caused by isolation, crowded family, forbidden profession, life reduced to the screen, culture prevented, friendship distanced, the horizon blocked.
Home prison, including the hour's walk.
Since the beginning of this story (it is a fact less than a reproach), this virus escapes us and the epidemic is playing with decisions, predictions, proclamations.
Each time the same result:
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