vermine

Vermine used to pick up the phone book, choose a random number and dial it.The interlocutor would play along sometimes. A conversation would then begin, often without understanding why the call came in the first place, but which would fill the solitude for a few seconds, or even a few minutes if they were lucky enough. The contact, human exchange int his big city, unless monetized, depends on stubborn perseverance or repeated accidents.Vermin bumps into people on the street or in the corridors of the metro, hoping they'll turn around, look up, or bark at him, to ensure that his body remains real and visible, despite the sudden disappearance of her tail. This morning, the soup is brownish, the tone is martial. “We are at war,” said the little chief,“the enemy is there, invisible, elusive, and advancing. All government action must now be focused on combat, day and night. We are at war. Nothing must distract us from it.” The people murmur in disagreement at the belligerent call and the injunction of the non-existent unit. The double chins of all these people, lit by the screen, vibrate with a hhhhhhhHHHHhhhhmmmMMMMMMMmmmhhhhHHHHhhhhh, roaring and disapproving. Alerted by the sound oscillation, the uniforms made of leatherettearrive with their ears hanging down. Silence.The Theatre of Penalties is exceptionally closed,and all other similar punishments cancelled, until further notice. Vermine isn't interested in politics. She holds her necklace of white plastic beads between her claws as she strolls through the city. he knew the tops of buildings, their upper floors, when she too wore a uniform, but the urban landscape is best explored from the inside. The kilometers of electrical cables, telephone fibers outdated but never removed, and the pipes hidden behind the facades say a lot about the world. In groups, cockroaches, rats, and mice make it their highway. This allows them to reach the roof even more quickly. Insanity is always at the heels of excessive loneliness. Vermine clutches her necklace tightly, so that each bead can be attached to the last remaining pillars of her reason. The melancholic generation will not go to war. The melancholic generation has no message. When the streets smell of fresh powder, the melancholic generation will close the shutters and turn off the lights. It takes a lot of courage to do that. Vermine is happily lost in her memories. Walking in a ray of sunshine, she licks her antennae and combs her lips. Vermine closes her eyes under the warm caress of the celestial body and stumbles on a paving stone.Her necklace breaks, scattering the beautiful beads on the asphalt.