His 2CV bounced across
the cobbles into the small market square. Shutters were closed in every
direction, at all elevations. The mini-mart was shut until 330pm and the last
of the market traders had long gone. Silence. In the corner of the square he
glimpsed the flicker of a TV screen, high on a wall at the back of a bar.
That’s where he headed to shelter from the sun. He walked in and as his eyes
adjusted to the shade: un Ricard, s’il vous plait. He looked around; yep, this
is where he would ‘go dark’ for a week.