A trumpet player improvises: trouble fitting in, finding his place, intervening: hesitation, talk together. Not very expansive, intimidate and, really, tired and, really, would like to go home or sleep: avoid being alone with, avoid answering all personal questions, do nothing or so little or so and that’s the way it is, day after day, annoy and anxious at the same time have to walk unanxious, on the road like heatwave, long deserted avenue, sidewalks under construction, go forward in the dust, in the heat, exhaustion, waste time again and have to come back, have to: I react. Evening to nearly night: unusual no street lights strange in sky, hang about, in the room, and bare chested, of the feeling that never something goes well completely completely, and order, and my ear, fingered all day, bleeds a lot. Things come back: heat in the driving seat, music, with music, from the highway, to feeling, oh the summer, the highway, game-of-sun-in-thebranches- disappearance at end of day or what happens in front: people walk, do nothing but keep busy, on this way, keep busy, two women, pink veils and intense whites oppose, the waste land with high yellow-green grass, top of African woman in apple green dress sticks out, grey green highway access, planes, colors, some things like behind. A trumpet player improvises: trouble getting out, sinks into, senses it, doesn’t manage and cuts short, prefers, than going on, go to the end. (Translated by Hervé Roelants and James Titheridge)