Het Diner Page #7

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But where to go?

I tried to put myself

in a young murderer's shoes.

My son.

Faso? Beau? It's Uncle Paul.

Call me back. Please.

Get away from here.

Hey, get away from here.

I'll give you money.

I'll give you money for a hotel. Hey!

Hey, what are you looking for, man?

Get your white ass back to easy street.

I couldn't find them and I began to pursue

every thought to the bitter end.

For instance, I thought about

the metal in Serge's car.

How it had probably been part of

various stars before they exploded...

before coming together

to become Serge's car.

Actually, with all those thoughts

I was simply trying...

to push away

one overwhelming thought.

That I... That I was powerless

and drowning in my own world.

I'll make tea.

I don't think there will be

a press conference tomorrow.

No.

No, he's too vain for that.

You're connected...

Hi, sweetie. Were you asleep?

I thought so.

Hope you aren't bored.

We'll be home...

Message deleted.

There are no more messages.

Sometimes I think we go out just so

we can come back home.

I'm going upstairs.

I'll wait for Michel.

- Are you hurt?

- No.

Just my hand.

Has it been taken care of?

Yeah.

Sweetheart...

Sweetheart, why are you acting so odd?

Dad...

Paul...

Dad?

Dad?

- Let's just talk, sweetheart.

- Come on, dad.

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