Opening day at the annual agricultural show. The Presidential assassin is waiting. He’s alone. Tucked into the folds of his jacket, he’s got a revolver. It’s 3 P.M. He’s got an hour to go. The silent countdown has begun. This man has no name. For him, the right thing to do is to get rid of what he sees as absolute evil, i.e. the President, who has based his power on a demagogical appeal to the masses and a few stray intellectuals. This modern-day hero is the face of the forgotten middle class. He has no newspaper column, no TV show, no radio program where he can express himself. Since the President was elected, money is in all the headlines, glittering arrogantly. Like everybody else, this man can’t help listening. Which disgusts him, too. This curt, hard-hitting text, describes how a humiliated man claims his life back via an event from which there’s no turning back. The man is singularly reminiscent of Camus’Stranger. Or the fascinating characters in Dostoyevsky’s novels