Words that do not tell me, Véronique Poulain

“One life, and I was well placed to know it, is worth between thirty and forty thousand euros One life, the collar finally to ten centimeters, shortness of breath, birth, blood, tears, joy, pain , the first bath, the first teeth, the first steps, the new words, the fall of the bicycle, the dental apparatus, the fear of tetanus, the jokes, the cousins, the holidays, the mates, the girls, the betrayals, the good we do, the desire to change the world.

Between thirty and forty thousand euros if you get crushed. Twenty, twenty-five thousand if you are a child. A little more than a hundred thousand if you are on a plane that crushes you with two hundred and twenty-seven other lives. How much are ours worth? “By dint of estimating, of compensating the life of the others, an insurer will be interested in the value of his own and take us in the most intimate territories of our humanity.

Built in the shape of a triptych, we could only see that happiness takes place in the north of France, then on the west coast of Mexico. The last painting is free of geography and plunges us into the dangerous world of adolescence, which is home to the greatest promises.