I have a rather precise and poignant remembrance of little bits of pins on Marianne the bill for a hundred bullets. Small, it intrigued me a lot this woman bayonet half naked with his big flag at arms length. She had a volunteer even if I thought his face was not very well drawn. Especially at his side, there was this kid in beret - a little sad - his two big guns and small flannel vest. Two very firm tits, a kid armed to the teeth ... Me he was pondering the hundred-franc note. I wondered who they were, this woman and this kid motivated galliard. The mother and her son? A whore and a street kid so Montmartre? I did not know ... What I knew was that I I also big guns in plastic and look a little sad. And when I ran into the garden with my big guns, then I would have liked to have with me this great Madame shirtless with his flag. It would have been class and I could put down her tits. But no. At the time I just had my little brother. However he also had big guns and maybe he fantasized about this 100-franc note ... What escaped me a little revenge on that beautiful paper money to study how the blood was the face of this man with a mustache, austere desire, in the foreground. Already he had no neck. Or maybe he was cold and he had returned his head into his neck. It was possible. We do that sometimes, back her head in her neck when you're cold. But then the lady behind with her breasts in the air, it would be really warmed compared to the old man in front. And who was that guy? I mean who was this woman and this kid? The boy's dad? Funny Dad leaves his kid run with two big guns next to a naked woman. The husband of the lady? Funny husband leaving his wife to run naked next to a kid with two big guns. There was in this drawing something incongruous that aroused in me a lot of questions quite varied ... One day at the back of a shop where they make a purchase, I asked my father who was this woman on the ticket of one hundred francs.
Marianne.
Marianne ... That's what he told me my father. Just a name like that, nothing else. Without hesitation. The woman with beautiful breasts called Marianne and my father knew. Since he knew her name, without hesitation. A bit like he knew the name of some large-chested women generously rounded the Saint-Denis - where he was working - who called him by name and with whom he often joked in passing. Shortcuts. Deductions. Amalgams. Associations. At eight years in any case, I concluded already that Marianne was indeed a whore in the Rue Saint-Denis and the little guy with him a poor kid in the street ... Tomorrow in crisis! The other
Nicolas
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