Antoine de Saint Exupéry / Le Petit Prince / Bar
J’ai ainsi vécu seul, sans personne avec qui parler véritablement,
jusqu’à une panne dans le désert du Sahara,il y a six ans. Quelque
chose s’était cassé dans mon moteur. Et comme je n’avais avec moi ni
mécanicien, ni passagers, je me préparai à essayer de réussir, tout seul,
une réparation difficile. C’était pour moi une question de vie ou de mort.
J’avais à peine de l’eau à boire pour huit jours.
The man who steps inside the bar is almost unremarkable. He's dressed in a pilot's clothing, goggles hanging about his neck, one hand to his head in the process of removing his helmet. His complexion is fair, darkened only slightly by time in the sun. He's a slim thing, built tall and lanky and with an awkward grace. His eyes shine with excitement as he takes in his new surroundings, brushing sand from his clothes with one gloved hand.
(He's almost beautiful. He has dark, just barely curling hair, framing a heart-shaped face with high cheekbones, nose pointed, lips drawn in a straight line. His eyes, his eyes are large, and contain a piercing quality that suggests that, to him, life is largely a book, to be read or written.)
A smile is quick to flit across his features, and he takes a couple of steps forward, hesitant but confident at the same time.
Say hello to the pilot.
See if you can't faze him just a little bit.