“I wake up in the morning of an odd, almost surrealist, September. Mysteriously healed from yet another Kunderan comic love, I am possessed, since this morning, by the echo in my head of Tindersticks’ music. “We don’t want nothing we can live without / We don’t want nothing that don’t belong to us…in this fire of autumn, this fire of autumn”. This bright autumn in the centre of Europe, which under other circumstances would be grey and rainy, you don’t belong to me. I live without the weight of your existence. Je m’en fous!” – by Maya