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