It’s the end of the summer. The mosquitoes are staying a little while longer, but I must go. With that same feeling again : sloth. The good kind. The sloth of the bougainvillea. The one you get when it’s 11 in the morning and you are drinking an ice coffee in the garden under the parasol, and through the sun rays, behind the curtain in the living room, you see your sister coming back from a night out. Soon, I’ll come back here, and things will be exactly the same.