General Strike

The cafés were full of colleagues about to leave for Foix.  

My time line was full of pictures of burning pallets on roundabouts and tractors blocking slip lanes.

I'd given up a day's pay already but had other things on my mind.
The home confirmed by phone that Bobbie has his place .  I cycled into the Place and found him sleeping over a hot chocolate in a chair at the Maison des Consuls, red scarf around his head, Toulouse Lautrec-style.

You can find an argument in a paper bag on strike days here and I wasn't let down.  

News was out that Marine Le Pen was due to be in Lavalenet tomorrow and Wishenkamper was in full form on the terrace of Atmospher.  I drank a coffee and half listened to her, half watched Bobby sleeping in the sun on the other side of the square, wishing him to not fall off his chair.

Wishenkamper plays devil's advocate in any discussion.  Today she said that the far right would be a better option than the capitalist middle.  I lost the will to live and walked my Da home.  His upper body goes faster than his feet and he weighs a tonne.