The last five minutes of Louvard's life went as follows:
ï¿½Ok, Louvard, this is the last one, after this you really need to get home..ï¿½ said fat bob the Barman.
Bob handed over one last double scotch. Louvard was bleary-eyed drunk and could not see everything clearly any more.
ï¿½Now beat it, buddy!ï¿½ said Bob. ï¿½Iï¿½ve got to clean the place.ï¿½
SLAM! The door closed right behind Louvard. He stood alone on the moonlit sidewalk. Swaying gently, by himself, sucking in night air, cold crisp and at last devoid of blue cigar-smoke.
Louvard looked up and down the street for his car. Being so drunk, and not able to walk straight, it was a hard job finding the car which fitted his keys. Finally the car all the way in the back of parking place was the right one.
Louvard sat down in the driversï¿½ seat ï¿½ then noticed a dark form next to him.
ï¿½Hey! Who are you?ï¿½ *hic* ï¿½What are you doing in my...ï¿½.
Louvard was found slumped behind the wheel of his car the following morning, dead as a dodo.
À la mémoire: RIP: Louvard