Reason would want you to be at home. But you can't stand it anymore, you need to stare at the sky, to understand why it pushes on you like that. You need to know where these unusual tones come from, orange, verdigris, and that irradiating electric glow. Air wraps you, viscous. You don't know anymore if breeze appeases you or if it finishes you off. Thick sweat goes down the edge of your nose.
Even swallows don't scream anymore, which you saw turning around for hours under raw sun.
Something is going to happen. Something must happen. Everyone is waiting for it now.

It's near; last walls are falling; city is clotting.

Present now seems to represent the after.

Everything will be submerged. Everything will disappear. Already, not much remains.

Herbs holding on facades will remind on the level of waters. Only they will subsist.

And some weird communities…

What I just want to say: is this damn thunderstorm going to break, so we can breathe a little? End of the world is not a concern.
(These are pictures I took tonight along the Garonne river.)