In this apartment there are in the background the ranges of accordionist which I am now the neighbour, who as if some moments passed here had their own original band.
There is this jar full of shells of Chausey, discovered in a corner on the day of my arrival. A handful of reported shells - I could swear in - years, by my cousin Mr. for my friend b., this childhood friend who lived here at the time. As if it had been forgotten any express to remind me that people that I love lived here before me.
There is this drawing of Penelope, punaisé on the wall of the kitchen by the previous tenant and the sounds of life of the inhabitants who live across the Court.
The neighbour on the other side I welcome my window if our intersect, and this reduced formica table of Normandy, which is not in very good condition. A stack of linen cloths reported from Africa by boat, of large wooden crates, more than thirty years ago this by my grand-parents. This large Vélux who feel me to work on a terrace, even when time is grey like today. Two large armchairs very ugly which I know too that make and on a shelf, a few books that I could not help but ranger color. Two, three cups in metal such as those in which used the coffee on the boat. A grey floor. Thousand recesses for the small cat, for when he will return home. And then this book of Murakami, the elephant evaporates, which gives me the impression of having installed a friend to remains…