The leaflet

There was a building a few of us had squatted, and it was our base of operations. It may have been a social centre but it was not necessarily open for all. It was like an ancient convent, with its gallery around a patio with plants and a fountain. But it was all derelict and almost ready to be demolished. We used rooms that were quite dark, because the mechanisms that actioned the devices to let the light get in the rooms did not quite work.
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Sir Ch.’s newphew’s visit

I was anticipating the visit of Sir Ch. or at least one of his family members. I wanted to show them everything I could that would have related to my childhood, so I went round the neighbourhood to see what was still there and what had disappeared.
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I was getting ready to go away. Big and others were doing lots of things. Our house was being completely made-over; presently it was a building site, and it would continue to be so in my absence. Outside, the street was undergoing changes too.
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Missed flight

Tamar saw me and he demanded to talk. I had booked my flight, had even checked in my luggage and had about forty five minutes before boarding. Tamar and I talked. I left and he wanted to talk more. I did not want to be even more delayed. The boarding desk was in a different part of the building, away from the building where the checking desk was, although I knew I could go from one to the other all the way indoors. I looked at the clocks and saw that I had seven minutes left. I had been at the desk before but I could not remember how to get there from where I was. A member of the airport staff told me about the public phones from where I could get information. I got to one of those phones. The voice at the other end laughed at me for wanting information, or expecting to find information there. The whole exercise of explaining my situation and where I needed to go and being laughed at for expecting information cost me about one minute of the seven I had. I would have to run to the desk but I still did not know in what direction.
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Father and I went outside the city, to the mountain surrounding it, and saw the other cities that were next to ours, beyond the city walls, from the summit. Passers by would help us identify those cities it was not easy because it was in the night and the see behind them was as dark as the cities and the only the light from the stars could help us see.

Some times a star would cross the sky and help us see better in the night. Then some stars would actually fall on the cities. Then we realised they were not stars but bombs. Some war had started.

Father an I went back to our house and hid. But it was not long before we realised we had to flee, like the rest of the neighbours. We started to pack the indispensables, just grab however little we could carry, knowing that we would have to carry our things on our backs as we walked. It was summer, so what we were wearing at the time was light and did not cover the whole of our bodies. Half way through the packing we remembered that we would probably need winter stuff too, because it didn’t look like we would ever again be able to come back, let alone before the winter. So we packed a few warm underwear. Then it was time to pack items that were not clothes. And we also needed money. We gathered all the money we could find in the house. Old money, new money. We did not find any coins, perhaps we were not looking. We gathered mainly twenty pound notes, the occasional fifty. We found money in places we had almost forgotten.

As we were on our way out, the neighbour’s little son came to visit. He was about three years old. His mother came to fetch him. She apologised but it was perfectly ok with us. We realised she was also packing. There was a suggestion to flee the house together but eventually she left before us with her son while we remembered at the last second about things we wanted to bring with us.

We fitted it all in comfortable bags that we could easily carry on our backs and left the building. We only walked a few metres when we were arrested. But by this time I was no longer with my father. My companion now was my girlfriend.

One of the arresting officers was the local vicious bastard. It all looked like taken out of a film about the nazi occupation in France. We were not manhandled at this stage but it probably was the end of our adventure. We were guided to the local nick, or maybe it was a random cell in the middle of a jungle. It was not a police or any complex. It was a single room in a single building with no buildings next to it. As we arrived, there was jungle outside it, but when we tried to escape there were streets surrounding it.

The officer gave us a lecture on why we should not have tried to escape the country. He then informed us that we would be confined to their custody for the duration of the war. Then he left us alone in this cell and left.

After a few hours we realised that the cell was not even closed. One of the walls was missing, or maybe it was a huge door on that wall and it had been left open. Then there was a small door on the opposite wall, and that too was open.

We thought of just gathering our things and run. My girlfriend was not too happy about the idea. Neither was I, but it was worth taking our chances before they would separate us and maybe even terminate our lives.

The logical or at least the first impulse was to just jump the huge door. We kind of figured that there would be some kind of trick, some kind of impediment that we were not seeing presently. I approached the open door in order to jump outside. Suddenly a voice came out of the walls of the cell, a robotised voice that reminded us that we were not allowed to leave. The voice said ‘this cell does not face the jungle lane, it faces the traffic lane’. It sounded like a reminder of the address of the place. What the voice was saying was that the valid entry to the cell was the small door, which was the entry facing the traffic street.

So we both went out of that door. Surely enough, the police headquarters were right opposite and the whole system had been designed so that our presence at the door was detected immediately. We had not walked twenty metres when lots of police, the vicious officer with them, ran towards us. We ran as well. My girlfriend, only then I realised, had been sedated and she could hardly walk. I knew that this was the time to leave her behind, or none of us would be saved. The officer got my girlfriend, lifted her almost inert body, and with it on his back, continued to run towards me. For some unknown reason he was exceptionally fast. He was faster than even the riot police behind him. And he got me soon enough. I would have to walk back to the cell, with him and my girlfriend, probably to face some punishment. It was clear that we would not go abroad at all now, or ever.

Little house in the park

We had communally, purchased this building that was going to be our office space and meeting space too. It was some kind of living space as well. There was a kitchen, a living room, and an office inside. Various compartments in a house that, from the inside, it looked like it was made out of either wood or thin brick.

The building stood alone in the middle of what looked like a forest, but it must have been a park in the middle of the city, for we could all get there on our bikes after an easy ride.

So there we would meet to socialise, party some times, and various kinds of general mischief. We had to leave our bikes outside, though. So I would bring my bag inside and leave it, together with the keys for my bike locks, somewhere safe, inside. If it was warm, I would leave my outer layers next to my bags too.

It felt safe inside, even when riots erupted around the city. We first saw regular police run past the house. They never paid attention to it, or to us. We felt so safe in our little house we took refuge in it after going round being aware of the situation in the city.

Then came the riot cops. Again, we did not even care to close the front door. Some of them looked at us from the lines they had to follow, and then they continued to run to wherever the orders were sending them.

But suddenly and without warning, we were surrounded. This time, the cops had come specifically for this house. We decided to close the doors as the light beams pointed at the house at once. The riot cops we had seen running were at a prudent distance, surrounding the house, forming the first line. Then there was a line of more heavily armoured police than the normal riot police. And after them were either police on horses or cars and vans. Three police lines in total surrounding us.

In other buildings, it had always been possible to sneak out and hide between the streets. But here… well, first we would have to find our bikes. And there were no streets around us. Just the park/forest.

As we were deliberating what to do next, a bang … a deafening din against one of the walls. We looked out the window. Some one, or something, warned us that looking out the window was definitely not a good idea. But almost without looking we realised they were shooting at us. They were shooting heavy artillery against our tiny little house. The first shot had almost managed to make a hole in the wall. Then there were more. All of them damaged the walls, there was no real hole, just a bump. And the structure seemed to stay firm. We were surprised that the house was proving so strong.

We negotiated. We surrendered. It was important to get out of there alive, and with as few arrested as possible.

We had to let them in. They allowed some of us to gather our bags and get on our bikes. Some others managed to sneak out and run through the police lines – somehow.

I got to where my bike was, still within the circle of the triple police line, only to realise that I had left my keys inside. I went back inside. A police officer all in white clothes was now giving instructions to everyone, and showing especially vicious contempt to some of my friends who had stayed inside to deal with the police and whatever they wanted.

The keys we had for the building no longer worked as the authorities had taken possession of it and changed the locks. I was allowed inside. It was going to be difficult now to find my keys in the mess that the house was now in.

As I was looking for my keys I could hear the others talk and I tried to figure out what the situation was. It was not clear what they were looking for. It looked more like they had just wanted the existence of the house to finish, and with it, the community inside it too. The man in white clothes continuously gave orders to my friend who was dealing with the situation, telling him to close this door and the other.

I finally found my keys; it had not been such a long or hard task as I had thought. And none of my keys were missing, which I found remarkable too.

Then I was allowed out of the house, but with all the hustle and bustle, it felt like I was sneaking out too. They were not interested in me. Then I realised it had got cold. And I remembered that my outer, thicker layers of clothing, were still inside too. This time I did not ask for permission; I just sneaked back in.

Now the whole house was full of cops, and there was only one of my friends left. I did not see any one arrested, and they were clearly allowing us to get back for our things.

The house was still standing, even though it did have some serious bumps on the walls. But it was not clear what use the house would have from now on. Hopefully we would gather somewhere outside this park and find another house that would have the same functions as this lovely little house now lost.

I now had all my things and could get to my bike and ride, looking for the friends who had been with me in the house.

Pools and ghosts

A friend asked me to house-sit his enormous house. It was big enough to have a swimming pool both inside and in the garden, but he preferred the community swimming pool so he had not built one for himself. I could stay in the house but I did not need to be inside all day, I was free to make myself at home and have a life outside as well.
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Trip to town

I had some “important” business to do with my bike somewhere far away from home. The place where I had to be was in a big city, but the reception of my mobile was clunky at best. So it was difficult to communicate with my family back home.

I spent a whole day dealing with this business but that was not quite enough, so I needed to stay for at least one more day – and the night in between.

I lost all chance to stay in people’s houses so I decided to set up “bed” on a bench on the main street to sleep.

I had also been trying to communicate with my family the whole day after I had learned that one of them had just had a stroke, with little success. All I had managed to learn was that Antoine was under observation in hospital, with doctors trying to decide whether to operate now or wait.

There was plenty of light on the high street and a corner shop open next to the bench. With a thick blanket I managed to have a nap amidst all the light and noise.

I woke up at one point in the middle of the night. The street was quieter now, but there were still a bunch of party goers around. One of the groups of dressed-up people was familiar. I could recognise some of the voices. They recognised me as well. One of them suggested to come to the bench where I was laying down to talk to me. Antoine answered: ‘It does not look like this may be the best moment.’ They walked down the street and I kind of agreed with Antoine. It would have been weird for a bunch of dressed-up people to come and talk to some one sleeping rough.

Then I remembered that it was difficult to contact Antoine and I called out – this was a rare opportunity to talk to him.

The whole group stopped and some walked towards me. Antoine had a white suit on, with white shoes to match. He was properly dressed up for a fine party. I said something like, ‘but hey, you have just had a stroke, you should be in observation! You should be in hospital, not here?’ He responded that he felt fine and he was not in pain at all, although he did get his hand to his heart.

The next day I got on a bus to finish off the business I had come to town for. On one of the stops, Nathan and Antoine got on. Great, I thought. It was another opportunity to talk to the family that I really needed to seize.

We sat on those sits where four people can face each other and we talked. Nathan put some of his things under his seat to talk more comfortably. At one point the bus stopped and there may have been some announcement that there would be some delay, because Nathan and Antoine got off to buy something quickly, leaving me with Nathan’s things in the bus.

It may have taken them longer than expected or the delay may have been shorter than announced. The bus set off again as they were coming out of the shop. Nathan looked especially distressed. He put his hand on his nose looking at me with his eyes wide open, as the bus put more and more distance between them, standing on the pavement, and me, sitting in the bus.

I looked under the seat where Nathan had been. There it was, his inhalator, a few more things, and his phone. So there was not even any point in phoning him to arrange giving these things back to him.

I thought it would be easier to cancel or delay the appointment to which I was heading, get off the bus, and try to catch them on the high street. I gathered my things and Nathan’s and requested the next stop. The bus took a few turns before letting me out, and I tried to remember all of them so I could go back to where those two were. I hoped that they would have stopped where they were or at least not walked too far away.

As I walked back the streets the bus had taken me, I thought how happy they would be to see me back with the inhalator.

The fifth floor.

A desease had happened on the fifth floor. Really bad things had happened there. And now the fifth floor was cursed; years and years later, it was still affecting the people living in the flat, even after they moved two flats down.

The flats were connected, and every one in the building knew each other. All the neighbours had family ties with each other. They had their conversations on the hallways, which were merely extensions to their living rooms, only on-looking the stairs. Parts of the flats.

The fifth floor flat was not in a living condition. It looked like a building site, and the family that wanted to move in had to do it up. They were not told about the curse so the unnameable events that happened, one after the other, caught them by surprise.

They tried to overcome it all but the suffering gradually made the family disintegrate. Moving to a different flat did not make much of a difference.

Even the rest of the street became more and more sombre. The building looked strangely older than the oldest buildings in the neighbourhood, at least from the outside. People tried to celebrate street-wide parties but those seemed cursed too.

Some of the neighbours moved out of the city. Those who remained wondered how it had all began, and eventually one of the eldest recalled the initial happenings. All had happened before any of the present tenants had moved in, even before the ancestors moved in, several generations earlier. The first occupants of the building. No one knew who they were; it was all made of the stuff of legend.

They tried to recall what the street used to look like, at the time of the first tenants. Not all of the buildings existed yet. In fact, the house with the fifth floor flat was the only one standing in the whole street. One sole proprietor rented the flats out and collected the rents money.

That had been several generations back. Now the terrible events affected especially one of the sons of the family in the fifth floor, to the point of illness. And the illness affected the whole family and, by extension, the rest of the neighbours.

The family tried to solve their problems but the problems were bigger than them. And they did not know the root of the problem, the initial curse.

When they moved out, no one wanted to live in that fifth floor. Another one of the sons had wanted to do the place up, build some furniture, clear the dust. He was not allowed.

They had hoped to rent the flat out to help pay for the new one, but it had to stand there empty to avoid any more disgraces. So the flat was empty, a building site forever after. Perhaps waiting for some one to tackle the curse, face the problem head on.

The dust gathered on the ancient clothes and on the planks the son had brought in order to build his bed.

God’s intervention in our lives

I went again to a retirement with like-minded people, like in the previous dream where we almost watched the film where God intervened in human history, only in this one, the film was the central theme and not just something tangentially talked about. This time the setting was rougher. We were not staying in a building, but in some kind of cave. In the first assembly we decided that we were going to see the acclaimed film where God made his intervention in human lives and that we were going to try to experience or identify God’s intervention in ours.

I was asked to share the paperwork I had brought to the gathering. I had lots of paper, all A4, and most of the pieces were wrapped up in chunks. One big chunk had fifty pages that were attached together by a whole in each of them, with a bike bolt.

The leader of the gathering held the stack by the bolt in order to show it, and said this was the guide with the instructions for what we had just decided to do. Other papers of mine were also useful, and I was made the guardian of them, but the fifty pages had to be split between the attendees of the gathering.

The idea was not very clear but it seemed to involve following the instructions and we would experience something similar to what the characters of the film had experienced.

The first step was to actually want to experience that, and for that we needed to some how change our consciousness. This happened almost physically in the way it had happened in the film, although in the film the characters were all physically distant from each other and didn’t know each other, at least at the beginning of the film, and we were all together, gathered in the same place.

At the beginning of the experience, then, there was a wave visible in the air and that touched us all. That was the physical sign that the first shift of consciousness had happened. Our minds changed their way of thinking a bit but this was difficult to express. The second step was to find a specific bunch of keys and then use them one by one, but not necessarily to open physical doors.

We walked the mountain, lived in caves, doing the things estipulated by the papers I had brought, one after the other. In the process, we regularly put more keys in the key ring and took some out, depending on the requirements of the different stages. They were old, metal keys. As the days progressed, the keys were gathering soil and dirt, and so did we.

At the end of the experience we all gathered around a table, although there seemed to be fewer people than on the first day. The leader wanted to put the fifty pages back together and my other useful pages too, but we had been loosing things as we had gone along, living in wet caves just with our small ruck sacks. I had lost most of my papers, some of the keys and, actually, a good part of my luggage.

We may have experienced something of what the characters in the film had. However, the whole quest had used most if not all of our energies. We were now tired, wet and dirty, and in loosing so many of the things we had needed, we felt we had mostly failed.

The leader managed to gather, from every one, the pages he had distributed from the stack of 50. Then he came to me and asked: “do you have the “bolt for fifty pages” that these fifty came in?” I looked in my bag but that too was lost. The leader had to find some way of stacking together those fifty wet pieces of paper. And he did. But that made me feel ever so failed.


There was a party next door but I decided I was not well enough to go. Then a friend came; she wanted to go somewhere far with me, I said I was a bit ill but I really wanted to go with her so I sneaked out and went. We went to another friend’s house and had a fairly good time. Then this friend wanted us to go to a party the following day. I asked him where it was and he mentioned “Islington Street”. He took out an iPad with a map application. The idea was that I would learn where it was and then get directly there from home. But it was difficult, so my friend from home said, ‘maybe it is easier to meet here in this house, and then you find the place?’ I disagreed, I did not think it made sense to come on my bike all the way here and then back south; going directly to the place would save me about an hour biking, if I didn’t get lost.

The friend with the iPad found the street while I had been talking and without giving me time to look it up he said, ‘we’re getting on my van to find the place now’. We all got on the van. I didn’t know the streets but I tried to memorise the way .

At one point we went through a park. Then to our left there were some derelict workshops. On the wall of one of them there was a neat graffito that read something like “tito”. I wanted to read what it said. The friend sitting on the back seat said it said something like ‘I have moved workshops, to find me ask tito’.

We arrived to the place, saw it and where it was, and then I went back home.

Once at home, one of my jugs, which were in the communal cupboard so every one could use it, was broken. One of my housemates wanted to explain, he started but he could not continue. I assured him it was not a big deal if he didn’t want to explain now, he could do that whenever he wanted. I said: I will ask you next Friday, or Saturday (I thought, what day is it today?), I will ask you what is wrong with this jug. I looked at it and it did look like it was a lot older than the last time I had seen it, but I could not figure out exactly what was wrong with it.

The next day I headed to the party. On the way I saw a man advertising his business. He was offering anonymity in telephone contracts. He was explaining his business to some television channel team. In the party I saw my father, and he said he had seen the man on tv but he did not understand what the man did. I explained it to him. He thought it was something that was actually necessary, although we all feared that the man had put himself in the weakest link, because if some one wanted to know what phone-calls any one had made, all they had to do was grab the man’s files.

Mutual aid

I worked in a food processing plant. We had to work hard, a few of us were a team, a few women but mostly men. We discovered that one of us was sick. We stuck together and one day we promised to help him. He was bleeding a lot.

He stayed in a kind of bathtub and we brought food for him. Then there was a parade. It was necessary to be discreet but we could greet each other. That was where I saw the first one deny the sick friend. Later in the bathtub I was with him but far away. He asked some one else for help, could he take the garbage out. It was disgusting to touch it, but we wore gloves for our work so it was not a problem. But another one of the friends who had sworn loyalty refused to take it; he looked at him as if he were a pestilent. It was true that there was propaganda in the factory against him, I realised that the pressure was very big. But it was very painful to watch as, little by little, they were leaving the friend we all had sworn to help. I approached and asked him for the garbage. It was truly disgusting, but I also wore gloves. I asked him about the red spot in the bathtub. He said it had no importance and I helped him clean it. He wondered why I did this, to help him, I told him that the less evident it was, the better, because, maybe, even with all the propaganda against him, not all the people knew that it was him that we all were supposed to avoid.

In order to be able to help my friend I decided to become a journalist. I took the garbage out and now it was necessary to feed him. There was food I could take from skips. It was fruit and vegetables, but suddenly I found a plate with what looked like a velvet or a crab. I thought to take it to my friend and ran to tell him. Then I thought that the crab may well belong to someone because it was on a plate, so better not to tell him anything, just in case I could not take it to him.

I decided to bring him food like fruit and vegetables and ask about the crab. Just as I was going to bring the meal to him, I saw a thin brunette girl take the crab, it seemed that it was hers. Thank goodness I had not mentioned the small crab to the sick guy.

I wanted to go with a few to skip some food. For that we had to take some bags, which may have been garbage bags. We had to analyse them. I asked three or four of the guys who were coming with me to help me with the bags. It was a long walk. As we arrived to Taroneca I realised that one of them was not carrying the small bag I had given to him. He said it was very heavy, that it was burdensome to carry it, that the walk had been very long and he had thrown it away. I got mad, at least he could have told me and I would have carried it myself. I decided to keep the bags safe and we went through the skips. Lots of people skipping.

We tried to get into a skip where there would not be too many people. I remained with the bags, I did not skip but I was there until they finished. More people came to the skip where we were although it seemed that they had already seen it before. A car came, almost stalling. This was danger. None of us had a car. They got off the car and arrests and beatings began.

I tried to move away discreetly, as if all that had nothing to do with me, but I was also carrying those bags that could be mistaken so easily with food bags from the garbage. I decided to run like the rest of them, although that would mean to risk getting arrested and beaten up. We ran a lot on the flours side-walk.

There was a garbage container. It seemed that we had escaped them but more were coming ahead. We did not know that to do. I had the idea of hiding behind the garbage container and then negotiate them. But surely they would see me …

I remembered I could now act as a journalist. In fact it had taken a few photos of the guys as they were coming towards the dustbin. They were not very good photos but they were the beginning of my journalistic career. I joined Naush and we got some material although not much. We got something on the scandals in the factory where I had worked. We got some pictures and audio, maybe video. Naush was nude above the waist but it could be seen that he had gone tanned with a t-shirt on, in such a way that it he was wearing that T-shirt.

Naush stopped to speak with a girl who looked like the Canadian, but I was more keen to see if she had got a tan; it seemed she had, I remembered her completely white. I had seen some of the white in her skin and had the hope of seeing at least the albino parts of her skin. While Naush was speaking with the Canadian I noticed two journalists harassing a big shot. A third journalist haunted another one, by simply putting the camera at a very few centimetres from his nose. Since I was not obtaining anything with Naush I joined Junk TV, with whom I wasn’t going to obtain much more anyway.

Mr. George Marmalade said: “Well, we have not got that much so far, now let’s go for the personal shit”. The King saw us and called us ‘slag’, because we only went for the human miseries. I realised I could not defend myself too much since it was clear that I was with Mr. Marmalade’s team. But as we went past him I said to him: “what do you know… Juanito.”


It seemed to be an innocent present. A toy car, one of those that can move on their own for a few metres once you move their wheels. I played with it for a bit. The makeshift road was less than a metre long. Then it was the real soil. It was full of movable stuff, it could be nuts peelings but they were softer. They made it more difficult for the car to move.

Then a more mean boy came to play with the car. He said: ‘hehe now you will see the car moving’. I had noticed that the car could move on its own accord sometimes, but it had not been difficult for me to control it so I had preferred to stay in the one-metre-long road.

He actioned it for a few seconds, and then the car actioned its own engine. A recipe for disaster.

The boy was a grown up guy who shared the house with me. He said he had lived with a landlady once who was a fanatic of showers, and gave regular lectures to people who bathed about the evils of bathing. We kind of agreed but then one time he was very dirty and very tired from some work in the allotment he had a bath. She was visiting; for some reason she had a way to know that he was upstairs having a bath. She asked the uncomfortable questions you ask some one you expect to be lying. But he didn’t lie and said he had needed a bath. Then she started: ‘you spend four times more water and you end up half as clean’. I thought that was OK for some one who was going to work with soil the next day.


I got sexually involved with one of my cousins. He said that, in the view of the family, we both were already homosexuals: ‘come on, don’t you see. Even I am half way between being gay and normal, in our families’ eyes.’

And I found some sexuality in him that I had not seen before. In all aspects of life.
I kissed all parts of his body, but especially his leg. I seemed fascinated by his leg.

I travelled with two or three friends, from childhood. We had started walking and we had got one straw each, then we talked with the people who on the way had given us a lift and the straw had turned into a lorry full of straw bales and apples. We were staying in a friend’s house and we were eating our apples. He wanted us to sing ‘happy birthday’ using a modern commercial tune.

But then after my experience with my cousin, I remembered this episode and suddenly I saw the whole scene in which I was in a more sexualised way, or with a more sexual consciousness. It was amazing how the same experience changed, with the new perspective. So much so, that I relived it all but it seemed like a totally different experience. More and more had come, we had our straws and I decided to get again with just one straw, leave the excess luggage there and set off with the girl I fancied.

I had seen there was an attraction with this kid, and there was something the others did not see. I was still uncomfortable with my sexy underwear, and the others could see this too. The guy wanted to record the song and we did start. When more people came and joined the signing and the recording, I saw that we were not indispensable and I whispered to Laura’s ear: why don’t we leave and sing the happy birthday on our own.

And I started kissing her. And we left, with a lot less luggage, but free from that stupid singing.

unpaid jobs

I had done some unpaid jobs, in the usual office. They kept sending me off from one office to another. I had to go all dressed up, but I always wore old trousers and t-shirts.

One day they made some trick on me and I got angry. I told them that I was leaving for a few days to rest and then I would decide if I would continue there or not.

Two or three days later one of my bosses called me. I was on good terms with this one. She asked me: ‘Have you not looked at the email I have just sent you?’ I sat down to explain at length.

At one point the conversation got cut and I called her back. I explained to her that I had already said that I was leaving for a few days, that I was fed up with the treatment, but if she was asking me, I would go the following day to do what she was asking of me, or to work with her. Even though I had called her back, I could still not hear her properly. I told her: ‘if it is very urgent for you, I’ll go right now, do you want me to go now?’

I went back there in my usual work clothes, velvet trousers and cotton t-shirt and jumper. Some friends received me with joy. I had prepared something to eat, but we wanted to go out out for lunch. However, we did not find anything to eat. When we went back to the office, there was a clerk frying something. I heard the frying, and noticed the smell too. I followed the smell and I found the clerk in an improvised kitchen, with a frying pan. I did not dare to ask whether he was frying for himself only or for all, and before I said anything, I saw him take some food out of the pan. It could be a meatball or onion stir, and he put it in a pile on a table, dripping oil as it was, on the white tablecloth, without a plate. When I looked at him, he made a face that said it was for everyone. I took one and went the room to where my partners were; I said to them ‘thank goodness someone thought of this, we are saved’.