A typical day in this atypical 2006/2007 winter: sunny and 15 degrees of temperature. Marseille railway station is a ferment of hectic human activities. Masses of workers move towards city centre in the morning, recoiling then in the evening, same number, opposite direction. It would be like the sea and its two daily tides if only the latter would rest on week-ends. But today it’s week day and therefore there are the workers, there are the occasional travellers like myself, there is the police aligned in great number and there are those ever present members of the human underbrush who, gulls around a fishing boat alike, do not miss a chance to collect the fruits of other’s distraction. Back in the Hostel I had met Suzanne, a blond and well rounded Dutch girl who, with wooden
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