Friday 1st+12

This morning when I left you at the train station, I might cross the huge post-war building site that Douai has become... I first walked along the Avis parking's lot; reaching the lights, I was facing the wound that will become an underground car park. I placed myself close to a girl trying to look fine despite of the fact she has never worn high heels before. I'm waiting for the moment I can cross the road and it's irritating me to see that drivers are slowing down only a the last moment, meaning: "What's up? I would have stop anyway!!!". A van coming from Barlet place wave us through walk on. The girl doesn't seem to react promptly. I start to cross the road and at this moment, I heard her to say: "Ooooh my Goooood!". I believed that expression was really outdated in a 25 years old's mouth, and understood that as long as the world would turn, girls like her would grow on old bigots.
While I'm thinking all this, I can't see the other van rising me on the opposite side. But as supposed, it stops. I ignore if the girl expected to have a ground meat à la YouTube for breakfast...

By the way, on Wednesday morning, I refused to walk under a scale, just because one of the two construction workers using it was eying me up, as far as he could see me. Did I reverse the polarities? The way the world is running or the course of my existence just because I refused to walk under that scale?
So I go on my way while a line 13's bus overtake me.
At Social Security, two veiled chicks speaking in arab are waiting. I'm going to the desk and the woman, pretty nice give me a ticket. Number 13. I told to myself: "Eh cool! The number 13", no more. As my turn has come, another woman, nice too, explain me that a Welfare Center certificate is missing. It was too good to be true.
I walk through Wetz street and I hate that street because it's a wind corridor unreached by the sun, so I walk, watching on the ground. I do that to avoid dog's shit too. I go on Fortier Street, always bewaring dog's shit, and at the only moment I hold up the head, I see a building. Some twisted wrough iron letters, made in a Grück manner, are drawing the number 13.
Raising the Welfare Center, my only wish is to end the operation quickly because I don't want to rush around all the morning from an administration to another. A new woman welcome me. Not so nice, inevitably, Welfare Center is like a refuge for the deposit of Society: red faced welfare helped, wearing white cheap training shoes and black leatherrette jacket for most. Fans of Johnny (Hallyday), I guess. The woman invited me to have a ticket, still the number 13...
I believed I would never have this damn certificate. The missus hardly answer me when I greet her. Not because she's disagreeable, just completly apathic. Can you imagine your old nanny working for state services! She has done the whole thing: "don't know whut to give ya. it dozn't exist. why is it written VITALE card here? (becuz it's a note page and I noted it to be sure I would take it with me, you cunt!). She finaly gave me two sheets of paper, mentionning she was unsure it would work: "wait and see". Sure, neither am I. I left, without saying a goodbye. His desk looks like the entering of a grotto with a desk board and a PC.

I want to end all this —it's 10AM, when I go out— I ran to the Social Security. I got a ticket: number 24 is printed on it.
I forgot to mention that I passed a bus from the line 13 to the traffic circle close to Châtelet.
It is done and I go back around the post office, remembering that the bus stop has been removed for the next one until the of the building site will end. I must walk along Saint-Jean Highschool to reach the train station again; next stop is over there. At the moment I hold up the head, I pass a bus again: Cuincy Les Treize (13). Something doesn't go round...
The weirdest thing I noticed while I was waiting for the bus was that: Friday 1st December, 12 01 2006... 12+1=13...