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Service Station (Sandro)


We see neither heaven nor earth, but the wind continues to blow his sand.
Driven by wind through the can rolled on national dilapidated, in spurts, in the light tinkling of his rusty metal. She went through what was the area of the station, a pump hesitated cons, rebounded against the blower to the pipe burst, and finally touched a rattlesnake coiled on the pit emptying. But he has not even lifted his head, nor heard his rattle. Here, snakes do not care. They are like us, they do not care at all. They wait.

is the annoying sound of the can bounce on the cabin of the station that reminded me that I was thirsty. It was the afternoon a day that I would never really there. There are days like that, days before leaving that we have opened our eyes. Here, there is nothing to eat, or stuff then lyophilized in dispensers. And the fountains of fresh water that survive, one wonders how and by whom they are replenished. But I shall not want since I'm here.
I do not count, I do not expect either. A good moment I got there by car - my old Volvo T5 - on a light throttle. More fuel in the tank, the gauge was flashing red, and then at all.
I just find the essence: I sneers and still others with me. Other? These are the ones who came before me in this hole. Jeff, Had, Emilio. They took up positions in what they have found available around: the carcass of a bus, a caravan, a mobile home.
At least I have a corner to me. Apart from those pesky rattlesnakes that are stashed everywhere, we can not really complain.
This is not what I thought, that's all. Today is Monday

, or something like that. The sun comes up every day like, like a fried egg. Yellow on top, while white sand around. It still happens, new on the national and tight lines. It happens every day, believe you me, and start all over again. They want a place to sleep, they are looking for gasoline, something to eat, advice to protect against rattlesnakes.
They only print anything, they are unkempt, bewildered, angry. They all say they have an important appointment, they should call emergency someone, a someone, it's a matter of life or death. You bet.

First, it means they believe it is the phone, which is already a manifest error of assessment. Then, they estimate that there would still be someone to listen. The
idiots, be allowed to say. They
also inevitably ask what time the bus goes to town. But there is no bus, that's what they do not understand. There is no city either, at least to my knowledge.
It discerns well at night, like a glow behind the rock barrier. Some say the evening, there are at the top like a giant statue of a serpent. In brass. Illuminated by spotlights blinding. But we can not reasonably call it a city either. Moreover, those who tried to go there never came back.

arrived, all they need to explain from the beginning, it's exhausting. And they seem enclosed in their night is a lost cause. Only those arriving by ambulance, the gallows over their skinny arms or during an infusion, which seem to borrow some wisdom. Some seem familiar, they nod knowingly. They are very pale, as white fog that idea. We salute them briefly, they tear their infusion and were told that "it's going to go now." It remains
sometimes in their eyes like a ray, can be a revolt, but do not stop at that and go home soon is shelter. Yes, I think that's what to do, and yet without regret.
The important thing is to keep a residual space. That's what I do. I'm happy in my station. Except rattlesnakes. That's still a brood, as the saying right away.

It's everywhere, day and night. At first I was killing them with blows of the key to drain, or I could lay my hands on. But it is to remake each passing day. Their bite is horribly painful, but strangely, it does not die. It swells not. It's like an electric fence for cattle, a punishment that would come regularly and by surprise, reminding us that we screwed up. And it will pay for it. When one thinks he has had his account, it reverts to the fund, and even faster.

At nightfall, it's time for fools. They arrive on the national, pushing their shopping carts with their meager belongings metal, shouting and gesticulating in the sand-laden wind that is imbued everywhere and squealing teeth. Invariably, one of them, a big redhead pale as a dish, mounted on a barrel of oil and engine knocking on it with a monkey wrench. Then he recites: "If you continue to promise us without giving us, create all the abundance of poor desires, you will come from other, more and more poor, O my brothel chart, and less accommodating me. That is why you'll die all. "(1).

And then night threw his black cloak over it all, the insane, the carcasses atrocious bangers Sand, rattlesnakes coiled on the seats smashed, and did not speak again until the next evening.

I will then lie down in the seat of the gate of the station.
There is still an old Texaco road schedule posted on the wall, the colors turn blue under the effect of the sun. It's a naked girl, who rejects his three-fingered white satin thong. She looks at me with a baleful eye.

That too much to say, it is surprising at first. There no woman, but then at all. The innovation is that it does not lack either. More desire, a few vague memories that float, nebulae necropolis.
night, we clearly see a few that turn up in dreams, but they are immersed in the strangeness. They are usually strapped in purple satin shirts, hoisted on high heels and each hold a sheep on a leash. And then they go in the morning, beautiful, beautiful, beast as day.
short, do not worry about that.
These are stories that dreams faded as an old man who speaks of spring, when we were young, but today all that we once had to itself, it went behind.

This is said to be Had, my neighbor across the cafeteria. An elder, wise old man. Still, he left one night on the road with his stick fortune.
I liked her, Had, but here, do not get too attached. On its face, there was a dismal expression of gender in life, no, I will not go much further than that. Such as "another blow like that and it's a head older than I pay." That's why he went to see the mountain and statue making. After a few days he has gone, as was his destiny from the beginning, and it hit the desert as a kind of fall.
I do not know if these things are fair or not, but that's how it happened.
I hope that the issue came to him like the wind that erases everything. And she carries him and all that that meant.
Had, Had his name was. It goes directly where it is the best one.

There is also Emilio, who arrived at about the same time as me. He sleeps in his Alfa Romeo 166 on the parking lot of my station. He is still in its juice, as it came. Valentino suit his now full of dust, his shirts and Armani sunglasses to match. It worries me a bit, Emilio because he is struggling to adapt. That evening, I spoke endlessly about women, their perfume, smell, the whole range of their cries and moans, the positions they took and he mimes with his hands. He also talks incessantly about what he lost, saltimbocca alla romana, the Barolo, the al dente farfalle , ristretto coffee and light brown foam steaming well. It's full of smells, his stories, but here it does not help.
So, I listen in silence, and I nodded gravely by one who understands. There is nothing else we can do without making a mistake in these cases.

One day when I still managed to get rid of it, I went to the pit to drain. I slipped on oil and banged my forehead on the metal lift. The pain struck me, and I'm sprawled on the floor greasy. Immediately, I heard the rattle of a rattlesnake that was there. He bent his body into rings and statement the neck to hit. I was struck, beaten, and have made no attempt to flee. Besides, he would have had time to hit before I could sketch anything. I waited for the bite, one more ... Against all odds, he gradually relaxed after a protracted moment, rested his head like a flat shovel on the ground, six inches from my face. I distinctly saw his thin, forked tongue that came intermittently, and its thin slit pupils like a skirt. And then, very clearly, emphasizing his words, he said: "You have these lives, though, is to cry."


------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------------- ---------------------
-Credit: Troy Pava site "Lost America".
- (1) Jean-Patrick Cuff in "The case N'Gustro" on page 246, Gallimard Black Square.

How Much Is A Silver Pear Worth

The hanger (Ph. RENEVE)


hanger Subject nm for hanging clothes, designed to catch on other objects when moved, and to win his support in other cases.
"These hangers will make me crazy" (Nerval).


Since ancient times and distant peaks, the hanger is the enemy of man.

Yet without doubt a human who has invented, designed and manufactured the first. But it is safe to assume with the likelihood that the most dazzling man was inspired by Satan and designs the most shockingly vile and malicious. Because it was originally one of the most difficult everyday problems that humanity has ever known.
There is no doubt that the unfortunate family that invented the devil has been difficult to deal with for centuries the curse that men have retrospectively cast upon her offspring to a number of generations that causes vertigo dangerous with the most experienced mountaineers.

This individual soul in black, obviously more inspired by the desire to harm than those to be useful, therefore, one fateful day, had the idea of having a heart-breaking hook up a harmless object for receiving a garment and dare claim that the hook was said, graciously and with a natural ease, calmly ask on a bar named the rod and leave kindly to the first user request.
The bad faith of this lamentable creator was detectable upon completion of his dastardly plan, since the first attempts to use the object in conditions close to reality have been crowned as successive failures and bitter. Why under these conditions the hanger he enjoyed success as we know, this remains a mystery unfathomable abyss, the most extravagant oceanographic expeditions have been elucidated. Word of mouth, always ready to deceive unsympathetic ear by a vengeful mouth, had to play an important role in this unfortunate spread of an object that clearly deserved a clear rejection and massive populations.

Thus the world is found there today with the usual nonsense, totally perverse and surreal full, use clothes hangers for storing many harmless and friendly, which would be infinitely better on hangers and in boxes, chests or cabinets uneventful and well disposed towards the human race. These clothes are poor the rest processed by the disgrace of their fatal store in as many evil things, permanent provocations and insults quiet calm that prevails generally in all of us.

As usual, and sometimes, force of habit, the mere sight or mention of the subject leads inevitably, in an individual normally consists of hands vaguely related to a functional brain just operational, the occurrence of behavioral which can be extremely serious, ranging from broken hangers or not lined up their jet through an open window or not, through the fire with flamethrowers, self-injury with their teeth and homicide by strangulation bender.

is the main feature of the hanger is landed his wickedness, his unwillingness recurrent even his sadism triumphant in two circumstances of her life loathsome: the coupling and uncoupling.
When it comes to hanging, it supports a garment or not, he dithers and hesitates, slides, made the wrong head, short deploys malignant ingenuity to achieve two goals that seem have fixed since time immemorial as Veterans: clinging to its peers and refuse to be placed on the rod. He succeeded brilliantly in general in these two companies for ample time for the individual who tries to make the maneuver ring looks horrible curses and blasphemies hideous. When the poor wretch
finally manages to hang the object so nearly satisfactory for his haggard mind, only to realize with terror row as the wheel arch was placed, with the vilest cowardice, in one scenario that sadly is not exhaustive list: the hook is installed on another horse on the pole, he took with him another hook, hanger has managed to bring down others, always heavily loaded, he managed to bring an end neighbor in a garment, the garment fell, etc.. And the officiating to repair the damage, not without having cursed his mother, his sire, cat, neighbors and the sky in its full entirety. Some consider sensible and appropriate to attach physical manifestations of their state of mind as kicks to the wardrobe, the factor which has just struck, blows from head to punctuate the walls obscenities, hooting and stamping fast wicked, but those perks were not in favor of all.
The hanger in place, it is preferable, as most philosophers hoary and physicians most careful, with application to forget the previous episode and possibly the very existence of the object. Imagine the clothes hanging in the air like a magic and quiet is usually very helpful to support the sometimes painful consequences of his hanging - aphonia, wounds on the hands, headaches and other nervous exhaustion.

Stall, second abomination bender is a test at least as perilous. Indeed, in a proportion that the most elaborate studies estimate that nine point two of ten cases, the hanger is desired, during the movement must go out the wardrobe, so without any penalty to carry at least one of his accomplices will be made a duty to support its removal. Most often, they push the perfection of the gesture until the fall of hangers or taken away, which will inevitably fall bright clothes and muddy shoes fragile, soiled carpets or tiles freshly washed.
Montaigne spoke of the philosopher in a cage in the towers of Notre Dame who, however wise he was, trembling with fear and dizziness. He could have illustrated the movement of people and their moods loss of patience by the example of the hanger hook, which leads those most serene and peaceful people to adopt more slowly for a time variable ways the most filthy, most hysterical and violent most of their contemporaries.
should not ignore the potential dangers of this situation. Besides the physical damage that can inflict the subject, many are frequently observed neurological damage, ranging from permanent state of manic excitement in cintrophobie, very serious syndrome causing the patient to a life of prostration vegetative mixed with a desire Obsessive a terrible revenge.

Vengeance, as this text, revenge long burst of sun-ripened my burning hatred. That these abominations are forever cursed and that their very name sounds like hell in the name of the Evil One. Hanger! Hanger! Such is the cry of the Bender Beelzebub, which resonates forever in closets fatal suffering humanity.

Hanger bite redrum Cthulhu Nyarlathotep oulmig ARSK nrrmflflhh

Philippe RENEVE.

Crafty Carls Crabmania

The Marine de Loire (Th BONNETAT)


Each autumn holidays, I'm traveling.

EXPLORE vast land of my grandfather on the island in front of his house.
It is hidden between the Purple and the Loire, behind a curtain of poplars.
his side I'm Robinson Crusoe or Captain Hatteras.
We take the flat file that the green water above the sand tub and hop it's arrival.
Whenever he walks the square of earth is the New World is rising to it.
Frogs and nature, a flock of birds and the wind mostly at the peak of birch.
Then he unfolds his sharp knife in the ground.
And chewed raw onion to starboard.

Him, the silence and me, we all three bears together. It works similarly
without opening the mouth stretched to the same secret.

But I'm much more curious and, one day, I know.

long time now, I set off with his right arm and thick.
This funny drawing.
I imagined and I would love to see it up close, touch the features at your fingertips. The drawing will take
relief and I know that. It becomes something that I have seen anywhere.
I lip on the issue of child and every time I'm afraid to shake his peace, I can no longer accompany the ballad.
I keep his silence.

"Grandpa takes me ..." I want to show him
I'm not a farm boy school garden.
But a worthy grand-son of an adventurer who never speak.

In her kitchen, I often ate the light "Lamotte Piquet" hung above the door, next to the Comtoise.
I ate dozens and dozens of meals and wondered how to plow the ocean. But darkness descended
always on his meal. Nothing was ready to talk about.
I emerged hungry, deprived of all the answers to my questions.
When you're small, it is clear that the old are trying to forget history and throughout history. They
erase. But
there he could not.
was marked with indelible ink.

I was doing sketches, drawings in vain on sheets of scrap quickly hidden from the tattoo Chinese blue and imagined:
anchor who said the crossing of the Atlantic, the dragon
for the stopover in China or back of the turtle to cross the Equator
But mostly it's a three-masted ship in full sail to pass the Cape Horn and I resumed scribbling incessantly.
He had to make a long voyage.
Sure. The boat is apparent one day to browse the memory of Grandpa.
And then he told me. At

strength, even when I became impatient. He must have known what it was like a child, although this too I was wondering if he had cleared. Yes, I wondered if he had cleared.

is the last day of vacation that doubt has been installed.

I first thought lost some petals had fallen on his arm. It was not spring yet.

After dinner he fell asleep by the fireplace, sleeves rolled up.
was time to go closer to see. Do
remained to follow the contour.
On the skin opened, pierced by a dagger, a A RED ROSE pink ... and ... detached, in black ink, a first floating HELEN E.

I saw the two leaping round eyes of my late grandmother, her protector sheets and hush-the-small-listening-to-door.

was the end of the trip.

Finish Around the World.
Silence. Not
move.
Getting very, very light. In
apnea.
Keep your breath.
At the bottom of the hold.

Secrets.

Teresa BONNETAT
-November 15, 2009 -

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On the side of the bear (D. Stealth)


The next day, the morning after a restless night, my bear of the night took me back to the shore of the bed. I kept my eyes closed long ago, torn by its resolution not to come support my fevers. Especially not wake up! I sleep as he stood by my side. Pretend, keep your eyes closed! Overnight in a flat boat that ran a long pole we chatted quietly, heavily. I can still hear his deep voice unspoken.
A wordless exchange between the anxiety of my fears of the unknown, death and the grave of his reassuring words, his "you'll see." Slowly, carefully, making sure it did not mask, however, it was scary to learn that the death was not informed.
You are great now.
"Your auntie died, his body no longer moves. The country is all-white is populated by people who do not move, no longer speak, sing no more. "
- Because they were not wise?
- Do not be a child, you are great now.
- But why you do not want to come?

Was it to help my courage? He offered me some as a feeling that fever, little by little, leave me in peace. Finally, a little peace. If she returned, it would be less often. I should spend my nights alone. Alone with the pain and emptiness at the heart of his absence.
He had spent the whole night to lead me on the great lake of fog which covered the valley at night. Embarking on the river, located just before and turning her back, I had even dream about, not daring to look. Had I ever done? He gave me a tour of never-ending river, the mill over there that made us laugh, much to the elbow which carried behind the forest. From the shore we were past the meadows, gradually, as in dreams, and from there, everything was allowed; up survey of the village houses. Patiently, slipping in the middle of everything white, it gave me grief weighing in interlude, flying over the village homes of friends. I had greeted with bursts of joy fleeting dream in the dream
"Well, you see me?"
And their smiles down time gave me a strength to admit, a few seconds, the terrible shock Auntie's death initially attached, forever, my companion of burning nights. The journey was long, how often went there to my room many times that my petitions brought us back to another round in the boat flat. This strange
flat boat that had nothing incongruous - we must say that I knew so much. We see him sitting and I needed without question. It was I who had brought a fancy dinner awakened from sleep in diving. He had taken command for them to say goodbye.



When there was a death in the village, a formal division of labor in City Council had decided the distribution: a coffin carpenter, the wheelwright. Later I was amused by this wheelwright who played the "Charon". The coffin! The coffin was the feast of breaking the routine of days. The apprentice or worker would stay there at home, at dinner with us, then he would work at night alongside the father until the morning when we find him at breakfast. He had to hurry to the happy days of free fridge. The coffin ready, drive the van to the home of the deceased ... and thence in a world without undertaker, my father and his apprentice, fresh from his 14 years, attended the final moments of families prior to beer by them ... epic scenes we came back and made us happy at the family table during those years. Fifty years later we still contons when it so happens that we encountered:
A family just lost his grandmother.
- Yes Lucette've told me at school, she just died. You'll make him a fine coffin dad's grandmother of my girlfriend?
- Of course my darling, we'll even make him great!
The father, mother, elder sister were all giants. Go for a giant coffin ... The Meme
Lucette kept the room so long that Dad had never seen.
- Hello sir Dames vot'mémé in how it is?
Easy to say at the table, to make children laugh, but faced with a family
crying ... So it was a coffin XXL.
They found the old woman in the room she occupied without leave for months. That's where we bore him his meals and that made him the semblance of toilet use in that time. They had great difficulty getting the coffin into the narrow staircase spiral. My father and Arpette family were out and distributed the body. There was the usual practice that gives parents a few moments of meditation, friends, neighbors ... and then closed church and cemetery management.
Some families insisted that the deceased took with him a object, a watch or a prayer book. It even during those times when a particularly vile old man was leaving, his wife, a boxing bug in the same category, insisted to put this and that and something else before my father and stoic priest who looked at his watch. The son of the house approached my father resigned:
(low voice with a serious prison door, before the entire bereaved family)
- Marin mister?
- Ouiiiiii ...
- You would not still a little room?
- But surely, slipping here on ... the side.
- Could not save the old woman?

When we need to work to live, we cross difficult moments.

But that day it was not the Atreides to the funeral, but much worse for my father ...: The Meme

giants was a quasi-dwarf, a tiny bit of good wife. Hindered the father! Cushions claim to people who are crying and staring at you wrong?
She was put in box and towards the door.
Ouch! The empty body separated from its cover was well past the go but to return, even down, macache!

He had to go into the barn to look for strings. Where are those pesky strings? What he said his son just now? Will make him repeat it.
A rope at each end, we approach the coffin of the window and bad idea ... An end to the window sill and the other to the ground.
Chhiiiii Flochhh , Granny falls south pole is the toggle
outside
Chiiii Flochhh , North Pole
We try as much as possible to descend to the ground either horizontally. But in the window frame, you hesitate. Until ground, the horrible landslide. Loading into the van. It seems that even at the entrance to the vault ...

burials until Auntie was so. Gales of laughter at the table, among the cousins at the workshop, a few of our happy connivance.

These coffins, he had to do them well before putting the same too small

Invariably events unfolded the same way, the dialogue closely.
We're here, my brother and me in the studio to turn them around. Choose the wood. The oak smell strong for the rich and walnut "only for the poor" ... You had to see the contortions some embarrassed son or sons in law from claiming "walnut-is-too-well-anyway" . A true test in this world where what people will say it does not spare ourselves, we, not peasants. More
took shape over the coffin we were excited ... He stood there on the bench, like a hundred times renewed call to our ingenuity.
And presto, we jumped in and armed with a piece of board we will simulate a ship. For the wooden coffin was a dark and serious wonderful boat coxswains rivers and aspiring sailors.
Tell Daddy you make us a coffin yeueuueeu?
Wasting no time we were playing marbles in a game where no one could afford his usual antics distasteful: step aside and get lost in the floorboards or below, and then ...
The ritual meant that Once finished, Dad goes to bed in and called my mother.
simulated panic which ended with a slap because "there were enough of these silly games"

This game often ended well. Laughter as an island lost in the perpetual fear of slaps unsuspected. Children know when it's time to smackdown. Some live without knowing it because they are absent, them and their borders. To me they were fluid and undetectable, reality sometimes had his chance but he was so fickle!

So that was the life of laughter and slaps that end in the coffin to the grave-boats!

From my Auntie's funeral incomplete archive begins at the graveside. Concentration prior family, the little jacket that rasped neck, polished shoes that hurt their feet, nothing stuck.
It starts with the same impossible Question: Dad does it on purpose to make funny faces to make me smile? I never watched it, but just a little ahead in the confusion of cries and moans triggered in the procession of women in black, while ten meters earlier
... ... What was he saying?
What could it be?
The same gestures to hide the head, eyes, mouth, this attempt to take an attitude, the immediate cessation, and it starts with the arm gestures ... Meeting an assumed sorrow that has no time settling that already disenchantment of his sister called to order. Was that the reason for this clash between opposing feelings at the confluence of attitudes? The cohort of black women found no favor with me.
I learned.
I found this gesture several times to Halloween and the following year after the anniversary of the death. The same theatrical play which became ever more a grimace, increasingly reduced or even barely sketched.

Twenty years later, at the bottom of a hospital bed where I was going a bit unexpected and yet so inevitably, I recognized the actor at the draft he drew up his act quickly on the shelf of unnecessary accessories. I was swimming in blood, and one that I lost the one you gave me. There was not enough to make so many expenses.
I found myself yet, true to my old shadows, in a sea of white - in hospital - and the great thing was the stream of blood that left me and one who, with difficulty, just fill the void. In the mist of a feverish night or was it one day, my old friend, the Bears came back to me. His return after all this time gave me the serenity that contrasted both with the red eyes of the nurse who had stayed up all night, pushing with the finger during hours, the blood perfusion was unable to penetrate the body that went peacefully.
Quiet, I remembered the graveyard scene, this peak 20 years earlier, after the cries and protests too much pain and handkerchiefs tucked into bags immediately got back in the car. Slamming clasps bags, slam the wooden ruler from the Lady of the cathedral later to make us sit up, his knees, the same deep fervor. The meal was waiting for us, "should not be expected when one is in people." Uses this occasion I was told by Mom Queen usual way. I remained a little apart in the driveway deserted, frightened and disoriented. The real sadness had taken me there, while his dummy sidekick had left the others to the imperatives of the goose to oven.
So that was it!
Parents, cousins, relatives, or less, took the colors with an aperitif. The meal was great as usual. At the end of the table completely forgotten children and Globule who do not lose one. It brought back memories of those hours of lively discussion at the limit of the dispute over the merits of cooking oil Huilor and Lesieur. Queen's was remarkable for this sentence imperishable.
"You can say what you want me but I keep Lesieur" The malevolence of Globule forever remember him saying. The was a nasty Globule!

Donatien Stealth

How To Cater A Weddingfor 150 People

Conspiracy (A. Zelensky)


Armand Mauduit just moved. Tonight he sits in his new kitchen. He finished his dinner, comfortably seated at her kitchen table. Turning her head slightly to the left, he can see the continuous line formed by the stove with his oven, dishwasher, washing machine and the sink.
The former owner left him with a fully equipped kitchen. The units are in new condition, even if they are a few years. He inherited the same coffee machine is placed at the end of the table. Armand is rather user Mauduit Italian coffee maker. But why not try another route to the black brew which he dedicates a special affection? That said, and with all due fairness, the comparison turns, according to him, the undeniable advantage of the Italian way. But few
sectarian, it alternates: when pressed, it emphasizes the power when he has time, he returned to his coffee with the hiss has always posting fun.

Tomorrow, Sunday, Lisa comes to breakfast. He opted for a roasted chicken with roasted potatoes also. He recalls with satisfaction the plump bird, a farmer, who sits enthroned in his refrigerator. In the process, came to his mind the other stores are doing this afternoon. The freezer is filled with no excess. Mr. Armand do not stack.

On rising to go into the dishwasher, where it will store the dishes in the evening - which will join the previous day - His eyes fell on the oven. He remembers when the former owner has reported that he had not had time to clean it. Not that he was dirty, "he said. He does not cook much. But still ... In any case, there was a system of self cleaning.
Armand remembers so it will take place this evening en route for self cleaning the oven is ready to receive the next roast chicken and potatoes. It is true that the oven is not really dirty. He examined it. But cooking a chicken in an oven that has been used for another, which keeps track of fat and food projections Foreign ... Of course, a chicken - or a roast - is a chicken, whatever the person begins to cook. Although ... The quality of the bird - farmer or not - selected ingredients to add flavor, doneness can be indicative of the person.
Anyway, he did not want to trust his chicken to an oven soiled with another. But as he waited for the last time, tonight he must conduct himself with self-cleaning.

The first thing to do is to consult the manual of the oven. Everything is carefully stored in the cabinet drawer along near the door. Armand M. leafing through the booklet and found the section on cleaning. He reads it carefully. The explanations seem simple. But am aware that the acting out is often problematic. So he prefers to wrap several times the various operations to be performed before launch. The choice is between this two forms: self cleaning immediate or delayed. The second option is cheaper but takes longer. Nowhere is it mentioned how long. Armand Mauduit no longer surprising: there are always those instruction manuals, white, as if the author proposed a riddle - unless this is a trap - to users. Let's trust, "he said. They must know what it is. He opted for the deferred option formula, which spends less electricity. The operation is slow and consumption in the furnace to be heated less.

Armand Mauduit therefore presses designated buttons. It has retained all three lights concerned - green, orange and red - must go out one after another. This will be a sign that all is well. A sort of buzzing noise is heard soon. The thing looks good.
In the wake of technical maneuvers, our proud owner decides to start machine wash his dishes. He never before had this kind of device. He lives for years, usually alone and did not feel the need.
But progress is offered comfort. Why sulk? After filling of liquids suitable openings in the machine, he starts. Now the hum of the machine cycle reserved for dishes in addition to the hum of whose function is to cook.
that was missing was the spitting of the coffee machine and the whirring of the washing machine to give her ears a quartet of music concrete kitchen. But it has already made a machine in the morning and do not drink coffee at night. Still: he finds himself contemplating with some tenderness these devices that ease life of drudgery.
After a last look at his little world of technology in action, it turns out the light from the kitchen and joined his room, peace of mind. He falls asleep on the vision of a kiln free of any dirt, ready for the Sunday chicken.

the night, he wakes up, how often to go to the bathroom. He tries to outwit the need to pee. But he is soon obliged to rise. He knows he will then take time to sleep. Returning toilets, it has an unusual sensation of heat. It undoubtedly comes from the kitchen. He directs them in the dark, distinguish the glow of lights from the oven. He was surprised: he seemed to recall that they should be extinguished. What time is it? A glance at his watch the information: two in the morning. A quick mental calculation confirms the obvious: he had to turn the oven to self clean 22 hours. It should be cleaned well. But two out of three lights, orange and red are always lit. And he did in this kitchen a warm oven ....

He shrugs, exasperated against himself in this irrelevant joke he made to himself. He knows one thing: if he wants a chance to go back to sleep, he must flee this place. Without really thinking, driven by a kind of instinct, he goes to the switchboard and lowers the handle corresponding to the kitchen, welcoming the passage, having entered below each controller, the corresponding room in the house . He dare not imagine his mood, had he been at night, to experiment to find the right joystick.

Once in bed, he tries not to question why, four hours after the start of cleaning, both lights are still on three toes. What a mistake he committed? It summarizes, in spite of himself, the various actions he has made to achieve self cleaning. Self-cleaning, not self cleaning! Not so sure ... What word do we employ? How to remember? That is not the problem! But if he does not even know if we say self-cleaning or auto cleaning, how would it be able to know what he did with those damn buttons! Without notice and in the dark. Yes, but the record is not better. He followed the foot of the letter, this leaflet and here it is. He exhorts

calm, breathe deeply. To clear his head, he thinks that Lisa is coming tomorrow. Alas! it is brought back into the oven, since it was invited to breakfast and lunch ... He has the feeling of being surrounded, whatever they think. He disappears under the sheets. The wing of despair would have touched, if a thought had not then made, saving. It cut electricity! This oven will not damn the law! Want to warm to rhyme? Well, it's still my decision here. A sly smile that he imagined his lips relaxed. Then he hugged
nostalgia evoking his old furnace that was abandoned by moving. It was not so many stories, this one. It is cleaned by hand, simply. With the product, or even with a sponge and a scraper. The image of his old cook fleet before his eyes. What happened to it? With this way of new, nobody had a grudge and it eventually scrapped. He sleeps on a poignant sense of regret.

He wakes up late and grumpy. He pasty mouth and an overwhelming desire to coffee. Once in the kitchen, he goes to the coffee machine. When where he puts on the button "in", he recalls, noting he does not turn red, the current cut. Grumbling, he goes to the switchboard and deliver electricity. When he returned to the kitchen, it lacks drag on the ground, he finds that it is indeed wet. What happens is there? He looks down: a puddle of water spreads outside the door of the refrigerator.
the power turned off, it sank. In a sudden movement, Mauduit Armand opens the device when the temperature is just cool. He remembers the provisions in the freezer. There is no time to lose. We must pour down there at the top. Frozen food should never refreeze thawed ... And everything is. He began to empty the freezer and refrigerator to cram in content. It welcomes the transition from not having filled excessively.

But the effort fasting exhausts. He has more than ever need coffee. He crawls towards the coffee machine. When he puts the button on the "in" a strange noise is heard. Feeling shy heat rises. Armand Mauduit, reluctantly, turned to the oven, without believing. But yes, all three lights are ablaze, self cleaning is left as if nothing had happened.

Armand Mauduit surprised himself by falling into an acute form of despair or not to indulge in destructive rage. A stupor, due in part to lack, lack of coffee, fortunately protects the excesses to which the situation could have taken. It is driven by an obsession: to drink his coffee. It seeks a cup. But they are in the machine dishwashing. It forces a bit to unlock the door of the machine, while saying that a cup washed on the draining of the sink would have cost less effort. When the lid flap, he saw the machine at the bottom of a water and soap. It did not last as it should. Armand Mauduit instinctively passes a finger on the first dish that comes along, and already knows it will be as fat as when he placed there the day before or the day before. It reproduces the same thing on another cloudy, with a clear conscience he will get the same result. Still

away behind his mattress daze, he leaves a cup, a knife and a spoon and rinse them thoroughly under tap water, reviving a gesture traditional, if not traditional, since tap water has not always existed. And he can not help thinking:
"It's much easier to wash dishes at the tap."
And then we hear in the air already hot from the kitchen that cry:
"But what I have to fuck her dishwasher! "A little
relieved by this outburst is understandable, the man covered his wins at the show. There is no question that lunch in the kitchen, where heat rises inexorably, where the hum of the furnace is combined with the sputtering of coffee in a duo no longer music, but hell. Still a chance that the dishwasher itself or you.

When he returned to Brewer, another disappointment awaits him, as it is true that misfortunes never come singly. He looks in vain for her beloved black liquid in the container authorized to receive it. This is definitely empty. The water remained at the top, where he paid earlier. The powder in the filter es t dry, devoid of any moisture. Yet the button is on the "in" position, the lamp lit. But most other no sound comes out of the machine. He is bent on the button, off, back on. It even pushes the machine, finding the rage of the child who gets on the solid object.

Then there is too much. He lets himself into a chair. Tears well up in her eyes. His gaze wanders, pathetic, or on the kitchen yesterday, he sat, happy, proud gaze of the alignment of its aircraft. And the envy of coffee in the back stabbing and saves a reduction which could lead to serious ends.
He rises, propelled by a query.
"there's Nescafe? "He pulls
his seat and rushed to the cupboard. Search feverishly. And substance hidden by other provisions usual, his hand hits the surface of the upper box. When he checked out, it reads "Ricoré. Whatever! Provided he has the illusion of feeling run down his throat dry and hot liquid black. The imagination does the rest.
When it's warm water, it almost surprised to see the gas light. With town gas, there are no surprises. Not like these hotplates that take a long time to warm-up. Luckily the kitchen is free.
He captured the pot with his simmering water to the living room, not without looking bad in the oven. He can not tolerate the vision of the heating device in action. It burns at first taste, so great was his haste to swallow his nickname coffee. He winces when the taste of the beverage substitution reached its taste. The coffee is related to distance. He chews on a slice of bread without butter. He has no courage to face his refrigerator cluttered with food he does not know how he is going to consume them within the required time.

his empty cup, he feels a little exhilarated. Not without regret, he rose to head toward the kitchen. It searches the record of the oven he stored the previous day. A sense of self compassionate hugs. Poor him, had he known, by classifying the damn book ... But at the same time recognizes the wisdom of providence - it is not believing - that leaves us in ignorance - blissful - the future ahead. Yes, but it was expected that the furnace would cause so many problems, may be he would read the manual even more attention, probably he would have avoided the worst ...
"What good is asking all Questions? " he said, kneeling in front of the camera for all its hardships, to better examine the buttons, record in hand. LEDs orange and red are switched on donations, but the green is off. The operation is on track. Mauduit Armand decides to attempt the impossible: moving from self to self clean program immediately. The idea of brushes that is a risk, but it is so exasperated by the heat that invaded her kitchen that is not really capable of reasoning. This event, the transition from one program to another, is nowhere mentioned.
"I'm not surprised it's so stupid machine. If at least it always did what he command ... "
images of rampaging robots assail his mind. But he goes further. Awakens in him the desire to control, that old human reflex whose origin is lost to the confines of our origins. It never be said that the object, its creature, he resists.
He starts turning a knob. Then another. And now the green light comes on again. Armand Mauduit is then taken to a rage that comes from deep within his brain, which brings the early hominids. It supports all buttons frantically, shaking the oven gets up to better tap it with his feet alternately.
And then he falls down. And finds that sits in a puddle. It takes a few moments to understand it more from the refrigerator - it has covered just now - but probably the dishwasher. He remembered the soapy pool seen at the bottom of the device: it has flow out behind ... the wet, he gets up, stiff as he spoke of these robots, a while ago. Armed with a mop, sponge it on ground, something evil is good, dry quickly.
Fire cheeks, he stood up and think later. Already 11 hours. Lisa will be coming to 12.30. He rushes on the phone.
"Lisa, listen, I thought we could go to a restaurant, it would make an exit ..."

It follows on the face of Armand Mauduit the vicissitudes of his conversation with Lisa, happily surprised by this program change She sees nothing wrong and will be there on time. Then, on prompts the caller - it can really take your time, it's Sunday - it accepts without difficulty to postpone half an hour he came.
Lise is not history. It may not be a beauty, it is not an intelligence uncommon, but it is not annoying. Armand Mauduit welcomes chance. Women have become so difficult ... And this is what he hears. It is always dropped him, he has flair. Once a pain in the ass by that cross, he identifies and avoids the collision.
Once the handset rested satisfied with the resulting delay, he took refuge in her bed. The folded blankets to the top of his head, he closes his eyes, put earplugs, and attempts to place themselves in voluntary interruption of consciousness. He set up a mental guard every thought that stalking inappropriate and removes instantly. This

hello from domestic public gives modest results. After a short respite, the issues are linked. What will he do? The porter's lodge is closed. No store does not work on Sundays. And what a shame ... even compared to Lisa. What will she think of a man unable to navigate the buttons on an oven? It is often compliment him on his strength - when he opens a bottle. That's the only thing Directory - traditionally given to humans - to which it is not refractory. Lise
believed capable of avoiding all the traps that this plumbing, electricity and piercing the walls, the three mainstays of domestic knowledge attributed to the male. If she knew when to plant a nail, but rather on his hand that the hammer tends to land. As for the drill so dear to his colleagues, he has an absolute obsession, as is panic fear of seeing it turned against him. If
wants to keep the love of Liza, better not mention the history of the oven. But anyway, he said: she does not know me at the bottom. Is that she loves me or a picture of me? Is not this an opportunity to compare the image to reality?
The risk of losing his aura with Lise, encourage ridicule, not conducive to what they say, with feelings of love. Although ... Women have a mother's heart always ready to soften the weaknesses of a man in whom she found the little boy they have had or will have.
Anyway, it is well to notice the heat that reigns in the kitchen and win the whole apartment. She wants to assist in preparing the appetizer, she will follow in the kitchen ... So, a light suddenly illuminating the spirit hunted by Armand M. A first image looks like: his mother leaning on an oven, then another: Lise charging a flat in the camera ... The association is a natural oven, women. Who does the cooking? Who makes cooked them? How is there not thought of? Lise must obviously know how to clean and self-cleaning oven. He heaved a huge sigh of relief that releases all the tension of that awful morning. He will say:
"Imagine that ... But me, home appliances, I do not know. You, I'm sure it's a had a child. You make so the kitchen. "The honor will be safe
. It will not make fun of him. The oven is not a male. It will give him the opportunity to demonstrate superiority over him. With a beautiful spirit, he does a bit of cleaning and preparing carefully.

The bell rang at 13 o'clock. Lise is there, all smiles, a little package wrapped by hand. She always has a gift for him. He kisses her with an outpouring from the recognition that early. He led the show by protecting it from his arm as if to remove the undeniable warmth that has invaded the premises. Moreover, only installed on the sofa, she remarked:
"It is very warm home. They do not heat up again when same? "
She posed in a mysterious package wrapped her on the table adjacent to the couch. He did not even think to exclaim, as is the custom:
"It should not! It's too nice ... "
He thinks only one thing: the oven. Exactly, his remark about the heat is a hook. He will hang his problem immediately. With a smile that feels very wrong, he began:
"To get hot, it's hot ... Imagine ..."
Lise listening with his customary expression of benevolence. She stops just to get the additional information useful, in his confusion, he forgot to give.
Then she gets up and offers to go.
"I will leave the leaflet? asked Armand.
"I'll try without. The practice is better than their explanations. I understand they t'aient confused, my darling. "He knows
, Lisa always takes his party. She understands. This is the record which indicates the error and not him who is unable to read.
When they are in the kitchen, Lisa looks with an air of competence the heating device. She squatted to better scrutinize the buttons, then turn one of them with the assurance given by the certainty of being in true. Armand, where he is believed to guess that this is the "Stop" button. And it is sure to have, also supported it. But he soon finds that all three lights are now extinguished. Never happened to him in over a curb, green. He opened his eyes to convince the undeniable reality: on the camera screen, no glimmer of no color sparkles more.
Lisa gets up and turns to him:
"I think it will go. It should press "stop", my darling. " Armand
Mauduit, in a whisper, articulates :
"But I pressed on it."
"Yes, but you, at the same time, pressed the others. That had to cancel the effect off "
" That was ... stammers Armand Mauduit, all sense of shame.
"It happens, you're perhaps upset, there's plenty ... the oven, it's not your domain".
She adds that with this cruelty gives unconsciousness or innocence:
"I, if I was asked to repair an electrical outlet ..." It Considers
inside the furnace, through the window and said :
"In any case, you have a spotless oven. To be cleaned, it is cleaned! Now we must wait until it cools. "
a tone he wants happy, the owner of the oven cools announcement:" We will use it again. Today I'm taking you to the restaurant! "
He leads the show to offer him a drink. He then noticed the small table on the package she brought. She has a mischievous smile, looking undo colored twine around the bundle. Soon appears a box of chocolates. Mr. Armand does not lend itself to immediate attention the form of sweets. Then, taking one, he realizes that it reproduces a small hammer. He exclaims: "It's awfully good imitation! "
" Look at the other, my dear ... "He discovered
rummaging through the box that the chocolates are shaped tools, nails, screwdrivers, crescent wrenches. The resemblance to the real thing is amazing. Armand M. manipulates chocolates, divided between surprise and doubt.
Why did she choose this kind of candy?
He looks up at Lisa. She smiled and he thought he detected an expression on his lips mischievous. He stammers to give a capacity: "Where'd you get that? "
" It's original, right? I thought you might like this ... "
please him, please him ... What does she mean by that?
But he refrains from asking for further clarification.
The mystery never gets very light. Armand Mauduit did not understand most of what had happened in her kitchen that night he managed to decipher the meaning of the words of Lisa. And continued to wonder if there was a relationship between the two phenomena.

Anne Zelensky