Just had the parents,Fan,Vincent and girlfriend Sunday meal, including the traditional do's and don'ts, the exploding words well contained behind full mouths, the mimics of the mother, the mumblings of dad,
steam on the kitchen's windows and 20 years of wonder and resignation condensed in the cat's eyes.
Add the sounds of plates in the distant kitchen going back to their places and a radio receiving only half the signal of an 80's & 90's most-rubbish-songs-ever show and tadam! : you've got the perfect picture of how cool it can be at home.
(...)It's half past three and anyone who hasn't spend a Sunday afternoon in my home town, Winter or Summer, doesn't fully know what the words hole, melancholy, boredom, apathy, and lassitude mean.
Only old people with coats of disillusion and desolate, angry young adults who didn't lose their hopes 'cause it seems they never had any. I wish I could say something different about the children, but to me they sound more cruel here than elsewhere.
The only thing we have here is really good bread and croissants (the flour is made around here), and a train station linked to Lille (which saved my life). (...)