This is Brest, of course. Here, having a drink at the bistro has never scared anyone. Grab a bite to eat at a restaurant as a couple, with family or friends, no more. As for creating a canvas on the weekend, that's pretty much a done deal. Here, it's Brest, of course, and getting out and about in the evening is part of a kind of popular culture, of local traditions and customs as they say in Paris. At what point did this truth, verified many times, turn into the irrational, on a Saturday at the end of Miz du? It was no later than this last Saturday, this November 30, 2024. Yes, that one, exactly that one. Tomorrow's historians, if the subject interests them, will even certify that it was around 7 p.m. that the shock was felt at its maximum intensity. At that exact moment or not so long ago, 15,000 people were stamping their feet at the top of the city praying that Kenny Lala would wrong-foot the Strasbourg goalkeeper for the penalty. At this exact moment or thereabouts, on the other side of town, 9,000 kids heading for “Raptown” were waiting for Niska and Heuss the Bastard in an overheated Expo Center. At that exact moment or within a few minutes, 5,000 fans or similar were getting ready to cheer the divine Zaho of Sagazan at the Arena. At this exact moment or in the very near future, a few hundred Anglophile music lovers and Tinderstick lovers were finishing poring over the repertoire while waiting for the Quartz doors to open.
Or how to prove through the rigor of figures that the antidotes to the multiple concerns of the moment are taken by storm, whatever the proposition on stage in shorts, in a skirt, in slim jeans or in jogging pants.
No need to have pushed the arithmetic too far to state without error that this Saturday evening, around 30,000 people were outside in Brest in one of the four theaters of their dreams, of their choice. Out of a total population of around 140,000, the ratio is crazy. Or how to prove through the rigor of figures that the antidotes to the multiple concerns of the moment are taken by storm, whatever the proposition on stage in shorts, in a skirt, in slim jeans or in jogging pants. Letting go, which they recommend in esoteric personal development manuals, no need to look any further. And again, no one ventured to add to the fabulous total the number of those who ate at the restaurant and those who made a painting. And even fewer, of those who went to the bistro. That would be too much.
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