6/24/2023 0 Comments Michel bussi time is a killer![]() ![]() It must have given him the illusion that he was tougher than everyone else, more sensible, more trustworthy. Nicolas was like an anvil, absorbing the blows, taking it all on the chin. Or a negotiator in one of the police’s special units, the kind of guy who would parley with criminals holed up in a bank, getting the hostages out one by one. In years to come, her brother would become a lawyer. Nicolas was eighteen, three years older than she was. Nicolas was still standing in front of her, looking extremely annoyed. To jiggle around good, big breasts beneath a sweat-drenched black T-shirt, under the noses of the spaced-out guitarists. These musicians were gods! Clotilde closed her eyes, opened her lips, she would give anything to be teleported to the front row of a Mano Negra concert, to be three years older, thirty centimeters taller and three bust sizes larger just for the duration of the lightning visit. In total contrast to her father’s family-stiff, Corsican, corseted. With her notebook on her knees, her biro between her fingers. ![]() She liked the relaxed position, just short of provocative, the stones that cut into her back beneath her cotton dress, the bark and the sharp bits of wood that scratched her thighs every time her leg beat out the rhythm of the horns. Clotilde sighed but didn’t move from the bench where she was sitting-a tree trunk split in two that grated against her buttocks. ![]() The voice of Manu Chao and the horns of Mano Negra crackled in the silence of the hot stones. ![]()
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