All we want to know is how long this or that dish will take to prepare. It seems the waiting times are so long that we have time to go play a game of Go somewhere fairly far out of town. We get on a bus. I’m sitting in the middle of the bus, on the left side. Jacques R., his wife and his daughter are in front, on the right, near the door. At the back of the bus (so I can see only if I turn around) is a sort of display stand, which I find at once elegant, practical, and banal; by banal I mean that someone should have thought of it long ago. At one point the bus stops and Jacques R. gets off. We seem to be right by Notre-Dame de Lorette, where he lives. His wife is no longer there. But someone makes a comment to the effect of: “Why is he getting off when his wife is here?” to which someone else replies: “No, idiot, that’s his daughter.” Anyway, the bus leaves. It has become a passenger car. At the wheel is Pierre L. or Jean-Pierre P. It quickly becomes clear that they’re driving very badly; for starters, they go the wrong way down a one-way street.
What do You think about La Boutique Obscure: 124 Dreams?
