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Serie photo, Gabriel Jones

Text by “Femmes Actuelles” (Elsa Pragout et Maylis Doucet)

« My backpack thrown against the wall before finding the center of the dance floor.
As the Persol man starts to show his face, tickling my belly, I dare to show this one off in a crop top and my faded blue 501 jeans!

Breath cuts off like a fishbone stuck in my throat.

I look for a place to hide.

A little smoking room in faux-vegetable tapestry with rhinestone-festooned armchairs.

A tanned hand reaches through the seashell curtain to hand me a Marlboro Gold.

I realized it was him again.

Banana Republic look: snood, black shirt in grand piano color, sleeve buttons open on the inside of the forearm.

The tweed is mastered.

I slap on that hand dropping that cigarette.

I look for the emergency exit.

My left shoulder jostles him carelessly.

He turns and follows me with a quick step, then freezes, creates a vacuum around himself, pulls out his camera, flash goes off.

I take one last drag and blow with interest.

He disappears under a background of Arcade Fire.

I look for him.

I can't find his holographic hair amidst the sweaty dancers.

My wet braid drips down my neck, my pulse quickens.

Behind the glass, I see a man with his back to me in a woollen overcoat opening a gray Honda.

I get out, without taking my coat to find him.

I open the door of his carriage and climb in.

The smell of vanilla-scented yellow fir lingers in my sinuses.

We take the highway.

The big green signs pass over us for many miles.

The cold night air blows through the barely open window and slams into my ear.

He finally hits the brake.

The automatic transmission slows to the edge of a coniferous forest.

The open-door alarm sounds.

I watch him drive away through the doorway.

Before him appears the entrance to a cave.

He steps inside. »

- Text by the "Femmes Actuelles" duo (Elsa Pragout and Maylis Doucet)

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