They are finished, the holidays. Over.
Over, the time of lazy lounging, surrounded by the rippling water. Over, the gourmet barbecues shared with friends, the green grass that tickled your bare toes. Over, the sweet sensation of the first sip of mojito, the one that satiates a throat dried up by the sea air. Mh, what were these beautiful bike rides, wind skirts and wild hair...
Finished, all that! It’s over!
Back to school. No freetime anymore, and greyness is already there, on the horizon. The Indian summer is an urban legend vaguely rehasered by climate-optimists. The only clear water in which you will bathe now, it will be that of your tears in front of Thalassa.
No, nothing will do, it will be hard.
Anyway, think about it, even your vacation was not so good. The sun was too hot, the sea too cold, and people too ugly. And look, your photos are blurry anyway. All you got was an extra five pounds and a new Basic Fit subscription. The news was catastrophic except for those who wrote it. The plastic forks of the last picnic awakened your ecological guilt with every bite of tabbouleh. Besides, we do not even know if it was really tabbouleh, with what they put in it.
It was necessary to buy quickly enough to prepare the new school year, and anyway your kit will never be filled, everything is too expensive. They did not talk about it, your kit, to the G7. Besides, you don’t even know what the G7 is for. We do not know if it’s the seven families, the seven mercenaries, the seven deadly sins or the seven dwarves. We only have slab, curtain. And where are the “gilets jaunes”?
There is nothing to do, it is total depression.
Unless you read this program, and you realize we’re here again for our fifteenth season.

The Jazz Station.