We were already faced to strange events several times this day. As it happens the most disturbing was this passage between what could be logically explained and what which couldn’t. It was a quiet process like when you fall asleep.

Our train was perfectly normal. At least until we got on.

I held Cassie’s hand to help her to climb the slightly high steps and she accepted it with a discret and ironic smile.

The door closed and we needed a short moment to realize where we were.

I turned to Cassie who didn’t notice my head movement. To her lack of reaction, I understood  she was like me.

Her gaze was plunged into the contemplation of a boy himself fascinated by the pianist.

Yes, considering it again he wasn’t that bad. He had a quite personal style, nothing more.

We let ourselves coating by the music notes scattering in the air, without imagining that a much less volatile yarn was already bonded us.

I had never been among these people which are afraid of missing an appointment, who look out of billboards to be ensured that a flash strike wouldn’t mess up their plans — or a passager accident, or even a bomb attack.

I wasn’t like them, yet I liked them.

I enjoyed guessing their thoughts just by observing what they were looking at. I was able to know where they were going by examining their movements, what they liked and their social class by reading the cover of the newspaper they brought.

I could have stayed for hours to scrutinize them, statue among ants.

— Concourse, central station of our city.

When I localized Bercqueuil lane on the map of public transport I realized that this street may have been placed in a way to be as far as possible to all means of locomotion. No-one may go there by chance. No bus line or tramway, except with half an hour of walk. The best option was paradoxically was to ride a suburban train and to track back.

Cassie and I waited our train listening to a beginner playing the piano. The instrument had been placed here with the hope to bring a little bit of livingness somewhere nobody wants to linger.

Cassie hold back the picture from my hands and slipped it in her pocket.

« But…

- I’m just borrowing it, she said resolutely. We have certainly to go there. Do you need some other signs yelling « Go to this shop !!! » ?

I kept quiet to signify that I had no objection.

Nonetheless our paths seemed still leaded by a series of doubtful and irrational events. With this kind of progression how could we be ensured to reach our goal ?

Unless there was only one goal.

We were rolling out the thread…