Between those pages, a man tells his story and opens his heart. His writing is as well the barometer of the pressure exercised by his psyche than the social violence crossed in the streets and pubs where he is frequently found. From those unpredictable existencial oscillations and encounters, the author brings to us a singular writing, a fragile prose and finely chopped, free verses with an only apparent softness.

Fabien Drouet gifts us with suspended moments : « I slowly cancel myself », « the triumph is for cowards », « I am not only because i am not dead ». Remains the sublimation of the words to catalog the dreams, to distill the beauty of moments, to transcend the absences, to look for poetry not in a rime but in places, in moments.