With time performances become less and less Same as the furniture The sub-floor hollow gives way It cannot hold up the weight of a stone or a footstep A man slowly-slowly removes the excess so he can at least hover in midair He walks next to the telegraph wires Sometimes in the evenings he touches street lights up high trying to see the reaction to his touch Between his teeth he keeps the scissors of total blackout without ever using them Perhaps he is afraid the twisting together of the wires or even more so the one sitting down there on the last chair on the sidewalk of the well-lit patissiere drinking with thoughtful calm slow gulps a yellow drink from the large shining glass