We know thin line that separates life from death . Fell asleep while driving without headlights at night. Flirting with the girl quell'australopithecus giant that is expressed only in monosyllables, and shots of mace. Ring the bell on Sunday morning to bring the word of Jehovah. Our existence is hanging by a thread, and if the rope breaks, it smashed to the ground and after that we never pronounce words like Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious, and Precious sternocledomastoideo . Knows something about a woman of Avion, a small town in northern France, a few days ago ... But first things first. Front the computer, I glance at the online version French 20 minuten . I want to be informed about the sexy new calendar of Swiss farmers and pathological cases of crime that plague the country. In fact the paper is two and a half lines long. However, my attention is swallowed up by a title that insinuates itself into my brain like a categorical imperative labile. I read the article. We are at Avion, which Wikipedia says is "a town of 18,298 inhabitants located in the French department of Pas de Calais in the Nord-Pas de Calais.". It is enough. It should not be very exciting to live Avion: some voila, a little 'and all of a parbleu Second chance to follow on TF1. And when the darkness falls on Avion, well, 'nothing happens . You go to bed. In fact, the drama of which I want to tell takes place all inside a bedroom. Pat and Mike. I picture him in his fifties, a hairy belly dedicated to that noble art which is the rubbing of the gonads. Use clichés but to act on the collective imagination is sadly commonplace. Let's say that he is an intellectual who, fully dressed with his silk pajamas if they're about ten minutes lying down comfortably to read Proust À la recherche du temps perdu. He has nearly finished a sentence. She next tries to sleep exhausted after a long day increased to study the art of the fugue by Bach. A couple like many others . Perhaps a night owl since 20 minuten reports that it was about 5 am, but the post is mine and I write what I want. Suddenly, marital peace is undermined by an event nothing short of terrible . He emits a flatulence particularly nauseating smell. In technical jargon, a Loffa : silent and deadly. All that remains is to escape. Now, I believe that those who produce gases that harm without at least the fact and give the audience a chance of survival should be criminally prosecuted . I will say that on a return flight from Istanbul, Last New Year, was submitted by the close areofagitico to this torture for the duration of the trip. Four hours of hallucinations visouditive. So far we understand that his wife, suffocated, we all do what we did: moves away from the place and opens the window mephitic , taking big gulps of air and decontaminating the area. The problem is that the husband does not take it well at all. Indeed, taken as an insult. Maybe it was the perfect Loffa. Having failed to eliminate the fatal consort with this technique, he decided to pursue the criminal intent strangling them directly. But not enough. In short, tragedy touched but avoided and, as Shakespeare wrote, all's well that ends well. The news got me back in mind, and do not ask me why, the guy the other night in the dressing room of the pool, flooded his armpits with deodorant of a tsunami. Nothing wrong with that, God forbid, I would just like to understand why he did before entering the water. Good week to all! ps: for those who do not know, Avion, in French, means air . Rather guessed with the protagonist of this post. Post them, too, after all, air, ethereal, intangible, and they disappear when the first open window.
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