L’ombre pute des flaques is a work woven like a spider star with slime. On the asses of the later Stars who knit this ball of women who knit without laziness. A mosaic of Male-Female relationships because they elongate. The kind of slice they buy for themselves, so they can eat it. 20 ball ticket, blue as the sky, against 2 balls weighing 10, waving at the entrance. 20 cents, the woman below, on horizontal images. Above all, fantasize with anecdotes the way you lie when you cheat, tell me it’s true, that it’s just love that tunes the faces. We call “whores” those who purposely never see anything beautiful. See them dream, fall in love, lose themselves in the puddles of ejaculations that nourish the days. Wetting the bikini on the peach skin, on a bed of juice. By surprise, a short-circuit in the airlock. A little death bigger than itself ate what it was there for. She says “thank you”, then “I really liked it”. MD