To become immortal, and then die

In early September 1997 my girlfriend, using a pistol, shot me in the back outside 11 Rue Chamagne Premier, Paris. Staggering down the street, left then right, before collapsing, I made three extravagant shapes with my mouth and called her a louse. It was she who had betrayed me to the cops. She did nothing more than move her thumb across her lips. Thus we recreated the final scene of Jean-Luc Godard’s 1959 film A Bout de Souffle. Continue reading