ANATOLE

The dead people pass right by my side, walking, when I go through the streets taking photographs. Most of them pass without even looking at me; some make a brief gesture of greeting with their jaw and then lower their head, put their hands in their pockets, and go on their way. But Anatole is different, because he likes to walk to my rhythm, right by my side, and start saying that string of strange things he says, without anyone asking him to..