A train arrived from the future with a small present stowed away in one of the compartments. Do you open it: yes or no? Yes. Y-E-S spells yes. Your colour is bleu. B-L-E-U spells bleu. Remember that song: “L’amour est bleu”? Vicky Leandros brought me to tears back in ’67, watching Eurovision and eating Belgian chocolates in your bed. Pretending to be in l’amour ourselves. I wonder whatever happened to her. Oh, yeah, I forgot: that sweater. “Red, red, my eyes are red, crying for you alone in my bed.” Hole. Holes, remember? But my mom didn’t care. She finally threw out that red sweater. And the lumberjack thing. It’s called a flannel shirt. Axe me no more questions, and I’ll tell you no more…. I remember how she lied to me, said it didn’t matter. My whole ontology dissolving around me: no shirt, no song. No you. Nor I. And none of us did anything to get away. Oh, look here. What is it? Un petit cadeau: the Best Of album, except it’s the German version: “Blau wie das Meer!” And tomorrow the world!