I arrive to the Nation square. A march is planned in honor of the lost persons during the attacks.
It is freezing. Millions of heavy hearts, and dripping noses. I sit on a small hill in the middle of the roundabout,
I pick up a sign "I'm Charlie" and sit down on it. Sorry Charlie, I respect you, but I have to protect
my ass from cold. A man gives me a poster saying "I am a Jew." I imagine the situation out of context.
It would make me smile if it was not so sad.

Cecilia sat next to me. She is 83 years old. She said "It's the third time I come here. Always when there is war:
after world war II, then May ‘68 and today." She is well equipped against the cold. She is patient and calm.
No doubt, she is a war veterant.

A man takes a picture of the group of journalists. Feel the loop.

Shit, it starts to rain.

Three hours I'm here. The people become dense, the motivated ones climb on the statue.
They shout slogan breaking the noise, some look drunk. I do not like this chanting.
For me, the time is still to meditate, not revendicate. But we are different, and we must deal
with the plurality of emotions. This is the messageof this eclectic procession.
 

Some lonely people, deprived of phone connexion, are looking for their friends.
Solitude in the crowd. Together OK, but with friends, if possible.

That's it, the frozen crowd reaches Nation.
We do not know where to look, we applaud without knowing what is happening,
we feel the wave of rumbling.

No matter the heads of the state, political parties, medias and analyses off specialists.
What brought us here is an ancient instinct, a human impulse.

For the appropriation of the symbole, we will see tomorrow.