Rue de Rivoli, amid the hubbub of babes and bags of clothes, two women cut through the mass, the empty eyes, gray garbage bags in their hands, and as a ragged clothes. They are dragging their feet as they drag this misfortune nestled deep in their eyes. Contrast between the frantic teenager fever and the slow march of two bag ladies. Null hand. In survival in a bad movie. On borrowed time. The mother and daughter. United in this tragic fate. Their future is only the present, the funeral march, without falling forward again and again. They ask nothing, neither money nor assistance, they argue, is all. The
