The first time she and Jean-Pierre danced, Bernadette Adams remembers how she felt. They were 19 and 24 at the time. They met at a local ball. He was an African immigrant and she was a rural French girl. They played the accordion music her father used to play when he was younger. He played professionally for a while but gave it up for a few reasons, the first being a plow hitch, the second a construction job and the third a furnace job. The music that night with Jean-Pierre sounded like it would take her place in the way her father and his father had done. She was throwing her life away for Jean-Pierre and people didn't understand that. They were not there that first night. They did not know that there would never be a life without him.
She had no dreams of her own. She can admit that now. She wanted to be a hairdresser. Most of her siblings live near the house where they were born. One person lives on the same road. She was sent away for three years to learn how to cook and sew after her parents took her out of school. She began her career at 17 in a clothes factory, a radio factory and a store that sold hunting and fishing supplies. Jean-Pierre dreamed big for both of them. He wanted to play football. She arrived late to the game, just in time to see Jean-Pierre come out of the locker room with his head bandaged, after his opponent shattered his cheekbone. She was in awe that he was able to play despite an injury. He loved football and she loved him.
Her brothers and sisters recall the first time he came to their country lane.
Franois says someone was not happy.
Her father did not care that Jean-Pierre was black. She made her make a choice. Jean-Pierre was chosen by Bernadette. They got married and had a child. Jean-Pierre was a regular member of the French national team and a fierce center-back for Paris Saint-Germain. They went to nightclubs. They drank champagne. Their home in the Paris suburbs had a balcony. They saw James Brown in Lyon. They were dancing. Their lives were filled with music. She can still see Jean-Pierre walking out of the record shops with his purchases. Frank Sinatra. Lou. The man was Otis Redding. They were watching the sunrise over France. There are pastels in Saint-Tropez. Her country brothers and brothers-in-law loved going out to clubs with her husband. Her mother loved Jean-Pierre.
He slid back down the league as his career waned. That was okay. They moved into the next phase of their lives. They bought a sports store. He began coaching his son's football team. He hurt his knee. If he wanted to keep running around with kids, he would need to deal with a nagging injury. He had an appointment at the hospital in Lyon.
She remembers it was a Wednesday.
Jean-Pierre called her at nine in the morning and said that doctors were going to give him anesthesia. She called the hospital at noon.
She thought that it should have been over.
She was told by the doctors that he was still in surgery. She left the sport shop for a lunch break and then called four more times. Her oldest son started to worry. She took him to football practice and then returned to the store. She called again after reopening at 2 p.m.
A staff member explained that something happened and that they would give it to the doctor.
Fred saw her face change.
He asked what was wrong.
She said nothing.
She finally heard the voice of the doctor.
He told her that it was very serious.
It has been 39 years since winter arrived in the south of France. A recent widow is Bernadette Adams. In September, Jean-Pierre died. She is alone in her home. A cargo ship bound for western Africa loaded Jean-Pierre's hospital bed the day before. There was a charity in need of it. She stitches hours into a day with little tasks. She is preparing for a long-awaited trip to Paris, where her husband's former professional soccer club is planning to honor his memory. She has three days to pack.
She hasn't been to Paris in a long time and is going to look for photographs from the old days of dancing and champagne. She returns with an Air France case that was left over from a time when she could just hop a flight. She smiles when she opens it and lets the photographs go onto the table.
One shows Jean-Pierre as a young child. He was brought to France by his grandmother to meet the head of their faith. She got an audience by fighting through the crowd. They were close enough to touch the hem of his vestments. The pontiff blessed Jean-Pierre after he was picked up. He was given to the nuns by his grandmother because she thought he would have a better future in Europe than in Africa. He was abandoned by his family and adopted as a teen, but he made his way in the world and met his wife.
A warm smile crosses her face as she holds a photograph of a fun, boozy dinner in Nice, at a restaurant owned by a friend. The owner is eating. Their oldest son's father is also their godfather. The waiter and waitress wear roller skates. A happy place. The table is covered with plates of food and glasses of wine. They all smile for the camera. Everybody enjoyed a big night with Jean-Pierre and Bernadette. His size and aura made him formidable. He would destroy anyone making a run on goal and then outdrink them.
There is a radio in her main living room. Outside the sun moves slowly across the sky above her house, ducking in and out of the clouds. The house goes from light to darkness. She keeps dropping pictures on the table, a pile growing like leaves from a winter tree, Jean-Pierre and his teammates in a bar, Jean-Pierre playing on the floor with their sons, all of them dancing, Jean-Pierre in a beret. In one of them, Jean-Pierre looks directly into the camera while his son looks up at his father in awe.
She says she could look at the pictures for hours.
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Between the night they met and the day he went to Lyon to have surgery, her house feels like a shrine. She has Jean-Pierre's record player closed on a shelf across the room, just as she has her father's accordion stored away. His record collection is also gone.
She says this is the end of dancing.
There is no picture of Jean-Pierre after his accident. She calls it that. The accident.
She looks at a photo of a football team. She can remember the names of many people, even all these years later.
How many people came to visit after the accident?
Her voice changes as she looks down.
She says one.
The roller-skating restaurant in Nice has the same table of friends and their child's godfather. She looks at people.
How many of them came to visit?
She says "None."
It is difficult to know what is real when you see the photographs of love and abandonment. She finds a soccer team that was once brothers in arms, all young and strong, when she flips through her old life. They didn't visit, either.
The doctor was with the woman that day. She was going to have to sell the shop. When football practice ended, her parents rushed to be with her. Fred was looked after by the neighbors. Two football executives insisted on taking her to the hospital. The doctors told her to wait. She was ushered into a room.
Jean-Pierre was lying on a bed with ice plugs in his mouth and arms. He was unable to speak. His eyes would open, but there was no activity in his brain. The doctors and staff seemed to have less information when she asked more questions.
They told her they didn't know what happened.
That didn't make sense. How did a healthy athlete end up brain-dead after minor surgery? She got no answers, no guidance, and in the absence of information, she chose to believe in her love for Jean-Pierre.
She was sitting with him. She talked to him about the kids. She brought the dog to stir his consciousness. She made a recording of a dog barking. Jacky Vergnes also came. He remembers her yelling at her husband. You will come back, then wheeling around to Jacky and yelling.
Jacky talked to Jean-Pierre at first. Jean-Pierre would have his eyes move. Jacky would clap and Jean-Pierre would jump. Maybe he will wake up soon. Jacky sat by his bed and told his story.
After two months, the hospital transferred Jean-Pierre to another facility. She could only visit on Sundays. She called every night. She always believed that the next call might bring a different story. The doctor had reported nothing had changed. The doctor blurted out what the experts believed but they couldn&t say it.
He said that his condition wouldn't get better.
Jean-Pierre kept getting worse, even though he didn't improve. He couldn't breathe on his own. He lost 24 pounds. The doctors started giving him food. They were counting the days until he died. She waited for the doctors to remove the feeding tube so she could spoon yogurt at him. She began to work on a twirling motion to get him to swallow.
He was moved closer to her home. She went to see him twice a day. He kept declining. She moved him closer to the window when the sun was bright. She saw a dirty bandage when she peeled back the sheet.
The nurse told her that he had a bedsore. We didn't tell you.
She can see that this moment is the point of no return. A desperate idea began to take shape after she felt anger at this woman. She was told by other people that the rehabilitation facilities were where discarded humans were sent to die. She got a letter from the French government as she tried to figure out another way. The government would no longer pay for his hospital stay because of the generous support of the football community.
On June 13, 1983, Jean-Pierre was taken home by Bernadette Adams.
A nurse told her before she left that she could bring him back.
She said definitely not.
Jacky saw a dying man when he looked at his friend. He thought that death might be a blessing. He came to believe in that belief as a universal truth. While Jacky couldn't escape thoughts of what had been lost, Bernadette looked at the man in the bed and thought what might be again. It was a small fissure that spread. Something broke when he looked at his comatose friend. He would not follow her wherever she went.
He told her that he had seen him for the last time.
Jacky kept his word.
He bought a small hotel in southern France when he stopped playing football. The grass is marshy. The town is surrounded by castle walls and he lives upstairs on a dogleg street.
He says it's been thirty-nine years.
His voice is cracking. He gets lost and repeats the number after a while. Jacky has a lifetime of bouncing soccer balls off his head, and so he sometimes just disappears while sitting in his living room.
Thirty-nine years... 39... 39 years... He says 39.
He looks at his wife.
He wanted Jean-Pierre's death.
His wife says that everyone went through different emotions.
He was not in favor of him staying in the world.
When he pours a glass at home or out with friends, he toasts his friend Jean-Pierre, the same friend he stopped going to visit. It is complicated. He got into a fight with her over the phone. He said that Jean-Pierre would be better off dead.
She asked how dare you say that.
He told her that he said it because he saw it.
He turned to his visitors and was serious.
He says that Jean-Pierre was his brother and that she was mad at him. She was offended. I think Jean-Pierre would be a better player if he played football with the good Lord or the apostles.
She used to trust God more. After the accident, she took Jean-Pierre back to Lourdes, where he had been for many years with his grandmother. He was lowered into the water every day by nuns and doctors. Nothing changed. Jacky gave up on hope when Jean-Pierre came home. The Lord's reasons for not healing Jean-Pierre and Jacky were enough. He made his choice to understand what happened to Jean-Pierre.
Is it an accident? He says it was murder.
It was not possible for Bernadette to see it that way. Couldn't make sense in the hands of God.
She asks herself questions.
She asked what happens to us when we die.
She sits in her chair, surrounded by photographs and music, and her voice gets fragile for the first time.
She says at last that she doesn't know.
It is a brutal thing to admit, and to force someone to admit, and there is a feeling of pain in the room. She no longer believes that life has a meaning and that we will see the people we love again. The constant noise in her house usually prevents her from thinking about it. She keeps talking until she stands up in the middle of an answer. She walks a few steps to the radio. She is looking into the distance and singing along. It is an old love song called Die Next to My Love.
She says that she wants to play this song when she will be underground with Jean-Pierre.
She starts to cry and is ashamed of her weakness.
She explains that this always makes her cry.
Nobody speaks. Her anxiety increases. Everyone needs to know that this song is played at her funeral.
She says that she has to tell her kids.
She stops talking as the light changes from light to dark and back again, rubbing her thumb on her ring finger, then her pointer, then her middle finger, as she looks at the radio and then out the window.
The House of the Beautiful Sleeping Athlete was their home when they left the hospital. She fed him five meals a day and cooked vegetables and meat. She fed him with a spoon. It took hours to eat meals. They faded into the next. He would just cough the food out. He broke a tooth when he coughed so hard. His teeth began to fall out. She fixed them. She kept going. Slowly, she trained his muscles to work with her. A little dance with just the right amount of spoon twirl. He was putting on weight. There were no machines.
He was put into a wheelchair by her and a helpers. He was wearing diapers. The boys helped when she didn't have assistants. She allowed her sons to take the legs at first, but as they got stronger, those roles were reversed. She talked to doctors and therapists about his needs. There are seven days a week.
The kids watched football games with him. He was given a cake on his birthday every year. The family sang and the kids blew out his candles. They wrapped presents and then opened them. The only thing he needed was the long-sleeved T-shirts he wore all day. He had a closet full of 1970s clothes.
They stopped celebrating their wedding anniversary after 1982.
She stopped eating dinner along the way. She rarely attended her children's events, leaving them to raise themselves. Resentments were built. Fred took to the competition mat with fury and his opponents learned to be careful. Friends were away from her.
If Jean-Pierre felt good, she would go to a local dance. She had to be an anonymous person for a few hours. She met her three dancing boyfriends over the years.
Did you tell Jean-Pierre?
She says, "Oui, oui."
She would never look at any of the men like she looked at the athlete in the hospital bed.
She was able to escape and go dance. He is trying to come back.
Franois says he saw him at the funeral.
Then there was Roger, says Chantal.
"Andr" and "Yvette" are the words that come to mind.
Which was the better one?
They all say Roger!
Her schedule came first.
One of them said, "You and your schedule."
She wanted her friends to stay out of her life with Jean-Pierre. It was always Jean-Pierre first.
She treated Jean-Pierre like he was important to her and she had feelings for him. As she prepared his steak, which she cut into tiny pieces and blend with the vegetables, she would ask him how he would like it cooked. That he never answered was not important. If she believed enough, she would ask the questions and one day he would answer.
She says she never lost hope. Never.
The things they fought about went away. He was perfect to her. Beatific even. They would have a perfect life when he woke up. She was aware that people were talking behind her back. She is asking why she didn't just put him in a home and let him die. He wants me to eat, drink, and be dressed. Abandoning him was out of the question.
Fred hoped she would find a way to have a new life of her own, but she respected him too much to say that out loud. Her brothers and sisters were worried that she had tied herself to a boulder because she couldn't see where her duty to him ended and her own began.
She embroidered her life around him.
What did he know?
Did he remember the champagne evenings in Paris? Is it possible that he remembered chopping down strikers who made runs on his goal? Did he remember the accordion music?
Fred Adams says that his dad could feel his mother's presence.
She had a smell that he recognized. She and her kids say he would sniff when she came into the room. They are certain about this.
She says that he liked her perfume.
He had good and bad days. He was happy and sad. The seasons were important to him. He liked summer. Music made him relax. He got upset when other people sat with him.
Laurent Adams says that he was there.
He was sad, and we could see that on his face. Was he seeing himself? I don't know.
She tried a drug. She took him to see priests. When his coma began, she brought in another doctor, named Frédéric Pellas, to run more modern tests. They scanned his brain after injecting him with dye. He was connected to machines.
She says that the encephalogram at the hospital was always moving. It means that one day maybe.
She picked out information. She described the situation at home more favorably than her siblings. It is difficult to tell if friends and family held out hope or if they felt like her sacrifice required their support. What is the difference in the end?
Dr. Pellas chooses his words well.
A classic brain Scan was the first test they did.
He says that he had rarely seen so many brain problems.
He did an exam. If parts of the brain are stimulated, a radioactive liquid is injected.
In Jean-Pierre's case, the examination did not show any activity that translated a minimum perception of consciousness.
The final test was to hook him up to equipment that would measure any activity in the brain after sounds, images or touches, which can tell a doctor if the patient can detect a stimuli even in a diminished capacity.
He knows what he is saying. Dr. Pellas says that her faith was just a way of getting through the day, even though she lived her whole life believing that one day Jean-Pierre might awake. She believed in herself and in their love after having lost so much of it. The doctors in Lyon had the same knowledge and learning as the new doctor. Dr. Pellas knows all of this.
He asked if there was any hope for improvement.
His scientific clarity, given to him by years of study and practice, provides the same comfort that an afterlife gives Jacky and once gave Bernadette. He knows things she can't, but might the opposite be true? Bernadette Adams was a life of isolation and service. The number of people who really understand the road she has walked for the past 39 years is one of the things you can count on. In her presence, the vapor trails of that journey are as real as you can imagine: someone who has seen a frontier the rest of us can only imagine. The tradition of all cultures is mostly forgotten by the modern world. What if a French farm girl with an eighth-grade education could have that knowledge? She was forced to look into the darkness. She was told by the students of religion that Jean-Pierre would be better off dead. The students of science said he was dead. She believed that there were third planes, worlds of shadow between light and dark. The only belief system that made sense was hope. It was the secret of going on to put one foot in front of the other.
He was in her house because she believed he was alive.
When he walks into the chateau-turned-office of his old club in Bordeaux, he is treated like royalty. The secretary brings coffee to the guests. He and Jean-Pierre were a defensive duo for the French national team. He does the same thing as Jacky, losing the thread of the conversation and repeating the same words over and over.
Thirty-nine years... 39 years... He says it has been 39 years.
They met for the first time in a game. He remembers it. The second game of the season. It was May. They both tried to catch a deep ball. One of his teammates yelled for him to tackle Jean-Pierre. When the play ended, Jean-Pierre turned to his teammate and said "We don't eat that kind of bread", which means neither he nor Marius wanted any part of the cheap shot. They became brothers after that.
He loved playing cards. I too. The castle was at La Voisine. We would go dance whenever we played in Paris. He loved it! Me, too.
He loved his friend. They were together before the accident.
I never went to see Jean-Pierre.
He understands that it's a shame.
He wanted to keep the image of Jean-Pierre alive.
Reports made their way back to Marius after Bernadette put on a good face.
He says that he was 5-11 and 181 pounds and Jean-Pierre was 5-10 and 185 pounds. She went to see her after I gave her her number. She told me that she saw someone who was not more than 115 pounds. So, no.
He fights back tears in his eyes.
He says these were hard moments.
His old club threw a party for him two years ago. The people at Bordeaux wanted to surprise him, so they brought in a woman who had a grandson. He didn't know. They saw each other across the room on January 2, 2020.
He says that they simply fell into each other arms.
The boy wanted to know what his Papy was like before the accident, so he asked her to tell him stories. He regaled the boy after this brought joy to him. He told him that any attacker who made it to his position after fighting their way through Jean-Pierre would be a shell of a man. His Papy was very strong. The boy liked the stories.
They finally spoke. He was asked to visit his old friend. He promised to make the time. They didn't know that the country would be locked down by the coronaviruses.
She says that he never came.
She searched for answers all these years. The doctors in Lyon didn't know what happened. They said one of those freak things. It happens to a small percentage of patients. But Bernadette wouldn't listen to that answer. The family was suspicious of the entire medical-industrial complex. She refused to leave the room when she took Jean-Pierre to the doctors. Her children did not trust the doctors. General anesthesia was refused by Laurent when he had surgery.
A lawyer was hired for a suspicion.
The attorney asked if he was sure something happened.
She told him yes.
He warned her that the odds seemed long.
I am not sure we will win.
For the next decade, these men fought the hospital after the French Football Federation hired a lawyer. The truth came out after hearing and discovery.
The hospital staff in Lyon went on strike.
The doctors should have delayed all the procedures.
Eight patients were snoozed alone by the anesthesiologist because of the strike.
Everyone was monitored by a doctor in two rooms.
A nurse was watching Jean-Pierre. She was 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217 800-273-3217
It took more than a decade for the hospital to admit that the anesthesiologist intubated him. The two doctors and one nurse didn't notice that his oxygen supply had been cut off. In the criminal case, the anesthesiologist and nurse received a suspended jail sentence and a small fine. They need to continue their careers. She said she didn't want to hear about the story anymore after French journalists tracked the anesthesiologist down in Paris.
It took 12 years for the legal battle to be over, but she received enough money to take care of Jean-Pierre forever. She had to hire some help to make her life a little easier, but she lost the purpose of her legal fight. The woman in the mirror was a middle-aged woman with one kid out of the house and another soon to leave, with a husband who wouldn't wake up.
She says she will be angry until her death.
She mixed the vegetables with the meat. She was eating four meals a day. He did not seem to age. His daily life was the same. She did not stay the same. She was abandoned and let down by so many people that she came to rely on herself. Her sister says that she was very tense all the time. She became very demanding.
The local nurses did not like her. She had a bad reputation in the community. Getting help became more difficult when the Pandemic hit. Fred was nearby and he helped. He moved to the island of Corsica after living next door. Most of the time, Bernadette managed on her own. She didn't notice the small bedsore at first. It is hard to know. Doctors will tell you that it is nearly impossible to keep patients like Jean-Pierre from developing pressure sores because of the worn mattress.
Fred was told that none of the nurses wanted to help her. When she needed someone, many people let her down and she pushed them away. The past 39 years taught her that Jean-Pierre was the only one who could be trusted. After all these years, Bernadette began to cry and yell and threaten to leave.
She was at the end of her tether.
What did she know?
There must be something. The betrayals she went through were so grievous that they destroyed faith in people, institutions, civilization, and science. There is a teaching pain. The only things that mattered were the promises you made to other people. The other tests of morality were all lies. You are defined by how you keep your promises, and that's why Bernadette Adams didn't run. She stayed.
She says she respected her vows until the end.
She went back to work, trying to fight the bedsore, feeding him four meals a day, each one down to a half-hour now, they working in concert at last. The bedsore did not heal. There is an infectious set in. They heard that the end was near.
Jacky Vergnes thought.
"Finally, he is free," said the man.
She was not allowed to watch the nurses beat the mucus out of his lungs while he was in the hospital. Jean-Pierre Adams died in her arms after she held and encouraged him.
She didn't do anything after he died. The past 39 years had seen a lot of tasks, repeated hour by hour, day after day, and now all that has stopped. She told her children she didn't know what to do. It felt strange. She tried to find something. She still cared about the tasks. She was protected from her thoughts by them. Before the funeral she moved his equipment out of the house and closed the door to their old room. She remembered and looked back.
She says she had a beautiful life.
The funeral took place. She dressed Jean-Pierre for his funeral. Friends and family began to travel south following the highways and railroad lines. The children played a James Brown song. The priest told the mourners that nothing in the world of God is completely clear.
I met her at the church after I spent a few hours with her. It was almost like she wasn't there when I met her. It is hard to admit that you have devoted 39 years to take care of someone and are left alone. She took care of Jean-Pierre for 39 years. I told my wife if that happens to me. I think it is a sign of faith for Bernadette and her kids. She does not see it that way. She took care of Jean-Pierre and now there is something missing.
The reporters who covered the funeral all wanted to interview the most famous man there, but he pointed toward the woman and said, "if you want to know what true love is..."
He said goodbye. Like she had died, Bernadette seemed far away.
She seemed confused and asked what she was going to do.
She sat in front of a television with her youngest son and let her memories come back, but she was sad that Jean-Pierre wasn't here to see it. She is trying to rejoin the world after 39 years of being alone. Her children are already looking toward next year, when they can help her find a new way of being, but for now she moves uncomfortably around her house, avoiding his old room, visiting the cemetery every day. She takes flowers and talks to him. She calls him by his name. Ma Biche. She asked how he was feeling. She tells him about her life before he died. Sometimes she looks at the fresh rise of dirt, still waiting for the marker she has designed, and asks, "Why did you leave me?"
She went to Paris the night before her oldest son got into town with his partner and son. The house was loud and alive with people. It always becomes 1982 when they get together.
It was in the courtyard of Saint-Dominique School.
"I don't think you were at school, you were at football practice," she says.
He says that he was at school. Just before school starts. My grandparents were at home at the time. They took me to school and told me in the car.
You were at football practice, and I don't have the same version of it.
He says no.
It's... She says that she had Fred at the store.
They are always comparing memories. It is like each of them has experienced a pain so raw it cannot be shared. All of them walked away from the hospital in Lyon.
He says he remembers the place at school next to the tree. You weren't there. They told me something happened to my father.
She says it was March 17th, 1982.
He said that he didn't learn it right away. It was not visible. You asked if they would tell us. The day of the accident was not learned by us.
The subject is changed to the trip they are going on tomorrow, which will include a plane, train and son. He has never been to see a live game.
He says it is his favorite team.
The team sent her and her grandson economy train tickets. They don't know what a single game might mean to a woman like her. What if the whole trip only made Jean-Pierre feel further away? She might just show up with a barcode on a ticket.
She lived in the city where the train pulls into Gare de Lyon. The memories start coming as she walks through the station, surrounded by men in fedoras and flat caps, travelers in French navy coats and overcoats, people pushing strollers and walking dogs. The air smells like bread. She is dressed for the city, with leather pants, silver sneakers, and armor. What if nobody remembers him? She goes to the hotel with a taxi. She goes to the game after changing into something nicer.
A staffer is about to meet them at the stadium door and she is no longer afraid of being made to feel small. The owner of the PSG makes sure that the people who come to visit them have a good time, spending time with them and making sure they have great seats and a full tour. He gave her a jersey with her name and number on it. After the game, the great Kylian Mbapp comes to meet her grandson and pose for pictures. The owner told her that she and her family are welcome. The stadium will always be a home. Everyone is bundled against the cold rain as Bernadette floats back out into the night.
She slips on the jersey she was given and falls asleep in her hotel room. The city is moving, the temperature is dropping, and a December snow is moving in. A journey from a crowded train station to an empty house has an empty bedroom and a closet full of faded party clothes.
It will be morning soon.
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