An elevator appears from the vanishing point at the  centre  of one of those  carré  bee-tv's. The passenger  boîte  slows and hangs just below us. Press the button or not, the doors will open, letting us out of the elevator. Let's go up up up and away. We've been tied at the belly and now we float, a free balloon suddenly past the edge of the buildings, up where thin and  vide  plastic bags ride the intercity winds.     C'était tout. La fin. Pour la dernière fois, je suis entré dans la télé des abeilles.