Rew-Ffwd

“You get off the plane. Alone. Here you are on a South Sea island, like many others. And it is hot. So hot. You have been asked to write a story. A pretty woman, the sun and the sea. Nothing very complicated. Routine. The rest is none of your business. You are just passing through. Efficient and in a hurry. Other trips are awaiting you. Other hotels, other reports, other cultures. Elsewhere. But first you have photographs to deliver. A contract to fulfil. Your camera is loaded, but you keep your eyes shut. It is simpler. More professional as well. Straight after you have arrived, you take a car. Everything goes as planned. Briskly. According to schedule. You will soon be back. You have a breakdown, cruel. Right in the middle of the ghetto. The area is dangerous. At least for people like yourself. People who come from somewhere else. People who know off by heart on which day and by which plane they are returning and who finger their plane ticket to reassure themselves. Now, anything can happen. Anything, even things which you had not planned.” (Michel Coulombe)