À L’HÔTEL
A suitcase. No, just a bag - I travel light. I slip my card into the door and the door of room opens.
No trace of myself, no memories, a setting that's been shared by others before me, and yet this is my room, my anchoring point to escape from the crowd, from the city. I enclose myself in my shell.
Windows open onto the outside world, a view, and that other lighthouse that gives me my bearings. I switch on the TV, without thinking. Everyone remembers flicking channels in a hotel room somewhere. It's the other window that I always choose, passing from one image to the next, like a link to the world that is nonetheless all around me…
Ludovic Vallognes |