The alarm clock rings, 7 o'clock in the semi-dark room.
The kitchen, a theater with shy lights, welcomes me to its morning scene. Peepette, faithful shadow, displays a lick as a greeting, then immerses herself in the ephemeral world of kibble. The coffee, dark and bitter, steals two lumps of sugar in its silent waterfall. The shutters reveal the neighbor, a pawn in his own temporal chessboard, vanishing at 7:20 a.m. Between 7:20 and 7:30 a.m., the coffee disappears, slowly swallowed. Then, the jacket, a suspended specter, wraps itself around me and the descent with Peepette begins, one step after another, in the taciturn rhythm of everyday life.
