Un ouvrier rentre de l’usine, sur sa mobylette, à travers la banlieue-est de Paris. En pensée, il dresse le musée imaginaire des choses rouges. "Il avait l’air d’un rescapé, d’un clochard des insurrections éternelles, et il bougonnait "Communisme ! Communisme !” d’une façon inoubliable.”
With the support of Sacem
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