Partir c’est mourir


We may never meet again, said the mafia man to the woman who sat on the sofa, outside at the rooftop overlooking the tall buildings with smoke coming out of their hidden chimneys from time to time. 


I am freezing up here, the woman said.

You ain’t speaking, not to me that is. I never existed. I only leave a trace of dead corpses, you never heard of.

Are you going to take mine?  

When business prevails.

Then maybe it is a goodbye.  

I liked the look of you though.


 The man screwed a silencer on his weapon. 


Standing on the street someone feels a shiver in the air like somebody passing by.


Uko Verhulst  10-2-2021