The Fivah

On August, 6th

Pitch black. It feels like a coffin. Where the fuck have I ended up this time? I think I'm not alone: I can feel some others around me, some of them like me, some bigger and some much smaller ones, I can hear them, the smaller ones are always louder. Everything shakes: here comes the light! What's happening now? A woman grabs me, hands me to another woman, a small ginger one, suffering from allopecia, stuttering an embarrassed "thank you". Oh my God, I'm in a hairdresser's! How did that happen? I must have fallen asleep in the last wallet. What is a woman suffering from allopecia doing at a hairdresser's? Maybe she bought a wig? Ah, no, I can smell it: she had her nails done. Well I suppose she has beautiful hands, it might be where she has to find pride in her feminity. It's a bit like a blind man in a one hour photo shop, an almost bald woman at the hairdresser's; but, hey, I've seen that before too.
Her purse stinks of plastic and I bet she has the left overs of an egg sandwich in her handbag: either that or...I don't really want to think about it actually.

Of course. Of course she had to go to the pub. I'm glad she's using her bigger notes first: I really don't feel like the spending the evening going from hand to hand. I might be able to spend the night in the possession of a taxi driver.
Ah, she's talking to a guy: I can see him each she opens her purse to check if she has enough for another one. Can't say he's a catch...but who knows, he might have handsome feet. He wants to give her his phone number. What, he can write in on me?!? Hey, in some countries that would be considered defacing me, it's illegal!
I'm not pleased. I have some ugly fat middle aged drunkard's phone number written on my back. Well at least I wasn't gropped by half the bar.
Electric light: we're in a shop; she's buying fags. There you go, back in a till drawer...oh, someone is taking me out again: it must be a Friday night. Ah, some sort of commotion: it's definitely a Friday night. And it's about me!
It's a young man shaking me in the face of the shop assistant: "I'm flabbergasted! How did you do that? This note has my dad's mobile number on it!"

Your turn: someone finds a CD without any inscription on it. Where does he/she find it? What's on it? What's their reaction to it? Same thing, 20 mn

Hélène