Paysage américain (American Landscape)

She looked so desperate… — "What more do you want from me ?" The peculiar timbre of her voice would have given interest to the most inane chatter — "Why don't you speak to me ?" — "No-one knows." — "Have you been really much alone ?…" What she felt was a sort of horror. She hated that — "Of course, nobody didn't tell me…" — "What an unexpected pleasure." — "And what about me ?" — "You won't believe me ?" Life smells of trash. The demolition of the building at number 21, place de Lancry, shows up the wallpaper of the apartments like a Mondrian in bright ocre. Automobiles screech as they fly down Hillary Street towards the harbor, covered in a yellow haze as far as the eye can see. There are patrol cops to check on the visitors; every now and then they pick on some man and ask for I.D. Mrs Chang is complaining to her boss that she’s being paid less than Professor Delaney. The light of the fading sun casts blue shadows over the cityscape. Strange meetings take place. A short silence ensued, which he ended in a discreet voice. Mister O'Reilly is having a bad day; he’s already late for his work and the city’s getting him down. The far-off, modulated rumble growled incessantly, while pale lightning in waves of cold fire flooded and ran in rapid succession. The muffled thunder resembled the echo of a distant cannonade below the horizon. The far-off, modulated rumble growled incessantly, while pale lightning in waves of cold fire flooded and ran in rapid succession. Mademoiselle René surveys the actions and movements of her neighbors. The photographer photographs. Monsieur Martin’s daughter is at the window. Nothing happens! A recrudescence of the rolling thunder invaded the room loudly, and passed into the silence. All happenings are in equilibrium. The steps of the lady who lives in the bedroom on the seventh floor are heard. The garden was fixed in the wall like a mirror that faces a window behind them and reflected the shadows. What was it all about ? — "There's a lot of unexpectedness about women…" What love might learn from such a sight. They would talk about all this. The sun droped. The air was heavy and wet… — "And what about me ?" — "What do you want from me !" she doesn't know what she could do. They had no illusions about themselves; but their sceptical mind was dominated by the fulness of their heart. For the reason expected, the forms occured more blatant. The thunder's deep bass muttered distantly and the doorway to the right of him flickered with blush light. The continuous rumble of thunder went on irritatingly. A gentleman gives out to his adolescent. The world is as closed as an egg… The stinking automobiles go by. A few tobaconists walk in the street. The echoes of distant thunder seemed to dog their footsteps. Several buildings have advertisements; “Cointreau”, “Havas”, “Famille Assurances”… As calm as anything on the fourth floor.