How beautiful the campaign is, three months before a presidential election! All declared or undeclared candidates rediscover rurality with the delighted expression of the first explorers. So it looks like this, a village in France, a bell tower, a public school, tired roads and dying bridges, then, all around, nature. There are even, it seems, young people
who live there. Marginals, those who have failed globalization, madmen, resistance fighters perhaps.
We strike a pose in a stable, we shake hands with notables, we sign a guest book, we whisper a vague promise before rushing into the official procession and leaving this place of misfortune as quickly as possible.
The ordeal has gone on long enough.
The pictures are in the box.
The Republic of black sedans restarts in the light of flashing lights.
By moving away from these white areas, she did her good deed of the day.
He already misses the ministries.
And the television sets call it.
Uneasiness grips me every time I move...
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