Homage to "Quel petit vélo à guidon chromé au fond de la cour ?" by George Perec.


 There was a place in a city that its name was unknown. It doesn’t really even matter. But perhaps it was northern, perhaps southern, in regard to what and from which wind direction. The name was catchy that’s for sure. It could have been minimalist- Japanese with darkening curtains, a wet American boxing ring, an underground stool pit, in short- dark, dim, gloomy, obscure let's say.

In the meanwhile this place was completely anonymous, just a place, very dark as we know, for about already trillions of years times trillion.

In a parallel world to this place there was a room with an eternal light, a horrific whiteness as much as darkness. It's a sad story about the sun light, the innocent angel, the symbol of pureness that was thrown to the heavenly emptiness of the Great Bear area when it was in the age of thirteen.

In the lighted room were double life.

At the same time that the sun gleamed, people were preoccupied with troubles of gardening and watering, paying bills, city taxes, gas and religion. Precisely at the hour six and forty five minutes PM, people wore their most elegant evening gowns and suites and flocked towards the great ballrooms, towards the glass halls lightened with dazzling whiteness, (because in the lightened room there is always light), where their heart would feel complete, where they would meet together with family and friends. There, we went through a metamorphose and became young charming people, dressed with splendor and scented with lavender, we left our vague troubles to the everyday, and with our dancing shoes we went out to wander, celebrate and to be dazzled in warmness.