There are three of them and probably meet at the tank station. Leaving the highway, they are going, through the night and reach the middle of nowhere.
From this meeting at the crossroad, they travel outsite the limits, follow the side-lane.
An interlude of life, of singular “I”. Plural games, kids games on the rythms of inthereal guitars.
This night and choreographic escapade is rythmed by poetic and squeaky Alain Bashung songs.
A way to operate, through this artist texts with his huge sensitiveness, a personal quest for meaning and belonging.

A wind of liberty and wild instincts is blowing on this road-trip, somewhere along the line.