News novel about the perfect prisoner

Je n'avais pas conscience de ce que je faisais. The prison fascinates me because I ignore everything and, when it comes to the beginning of the profession, I imagine the force of creation, and I find myself finding an injustice in denial. If you return the parfait, you will have to admit it to the cake. Je devais le chercher, je suppose, car, juste après ce reportage en nursery, j'ai entendu parler d'un boxeur Americain, Dewey Bozella, qui venait d'être libéré après avoir passé vingt-six ans dans une cellule de la prison de Sing Sing, au nord de New York, pour un meurtre qu'il n'avait pas commis. Libération a refusé de m'envoyer — « Trop cher. Do you have a fair son's portrait on the phone? » –, I'm all looking forward to the review XXI, née sur la promesse d'envoyer des journalistes sur le terrain et de leur laisser le temps suffisant pour avoir des histoires à raconter. The chef rédacteur, Patrick de Saint-Exupéry, met me in a small office that had a cold tobacco and, pendant plus a heure, my kitchen was smoked clope sur clope, he demanded a high voice and had a good idea of ​​​​fair confidence in a game comme moi. In the end, I said "Vas-y, prends les bills, I'm engaged in the rembourser", and so on, I'm mounted in an airplane for New York.

Mathieu Palain, Don't stop running

I wasn't aware of what I was doing. The prison fascinated me because I knew nothing about it, and naively, as one is when starting out in this profession, I imagined that by investigating, I would find an injustice to denounce. I dreamed of the perfect prisoner, wrongly convicted. I must have been looking for him, because shortly after this childhood story, I heard about an American boxer, Dewey Bozella, who had just been released from prison after spending twenty-six years in a cell at Sing Sing State Prison in upstate New York for a murder he didn't commit. Libération He refused to send me – “Too expensive. Can’t you do his portrait over the phone?” – So I contacted the magazine. XXI, which had been founded with the promise of sending journalists into the field and giving them enough time to tell stories. The editor-in-chief, Patrick de Saint-Exupéry, received me in a small office reeking of stale tobacco and interrogated me for over an hour while smoking one cigarette after another and wondering aloud whether it was a good idea to trust a kid like me. Finally, he said, "Take the tickets, I'll pay you back," and before I knew it, I was on a plane to New York.

Parce qu'il a vingt ans et qu'il se sent invincible, Toumany s'inscrit aux Foulées vigneusiennes, quinze kilometerètres en trois boucles à travers sa ville. C'est la fin juin, il fait un temps magnifique, the départ est donné à 20 h 30 pour que les coureurs ne souffrent pas trop de la chaleur. Toumany rameute le quarter. « Venez me voir gagner! Je vais tout écraser, vous verrez! » At these times, the additional courses in the street are returned: one against the other, the premier at poteau costs 50 euros. It's about the light that's on the record, 52 minutes. I called Eric Cantona, who responded to a journalist: “Moi, douter?” Jamais. Mais moi, c'est spécial, je me sens capable de tout. When you ride a bike, you can watch the record of the race and enjoy the Tour of France. »

Mathieu Palain, Don't stop running

Because he's twenty years old and feels invincible, Toumany signs up for the Foulées vigneusiennes, a fifteen-kilometer race with three loops through his town. It's late June, the weather is beautiful, and the start is at 8:30 p.m. so the runners don't suffer too much from the heat. Toumany gathers the neighborhood. "Come and see me win! I'm going to smash everything, you'll see!" He's recently won several road races: one-on-one, with the first to cross the finish line receiving 50 euros. He's so confident that he asks about the record for the event: 52 minutes. He reminds me of Eric Cantona, who replied to a journalist: "Me, doubts? Never. But I'm special, I feel capable of anything. When I see a bicycle, I'm sure I can break the hour record and win the Tour de France."

All you need is the dossard, accroche the GPS device on the shoe, and the place in the foule. There is also a few cents written in mais, cups are on a line of the department, which makes a package of cuisses musclées and baskets neuves. These watches are bipent. Ces corps entraînés. Certains on the silhouette effilée des Kényans qu'on voit à la télé. Toumany part en sprint. The sourit aux potes qu'il reconnaît sur le sidewalk et fait ce qu'il a promis, il prend la tête. The rhythm is very high, in the first kilometer that is sent to the point of the coast. Il se fait doubler par un groupe. Puis un deuxième. Son cœur s'emballe. Il ralentit. Des wagons de coureurs le dépassent. Of the young. Des vieux. Of women. Three kilometers. Quatrième kilometer. À la fin du premier tour, Toumany, noyé dans le peloton, lance à ses amis: « You inquiétez pas, je produirai mon effort dans la dernière boucle ! » corn, cent meters plus loin, l'évidence lui intime de s'arrêter. The profit from a desert segment by the public, marche quelques mètres, s'écarte du course et rentre à la maison. Une heure plus tard, ses potes hurlent à la porte: « T'es nul, tu te fais doubler par des gamins, t'as pas honte ? J'aurais dû parier, t'as même pas franchi l'arrivée ! » Toumany bredouille qu'un point de côté l'a foudroyé, mais personne n'est dupe, c'est la honte qui l'a stoppé.

Mathieu Palain, Don't stop running

Toumany collects his number, attaches the GPS chip to his shoe, and takes his place in the crowd. Only 260 people are registered, but when you gather them at the starting line, that's a lot of muscular thighs and new trainers. All those beeping watches. Those trained bodies. Some of them have the lean silhouette of the Kenyans you see on TV. Toumany starts sprinting. He smiles at the friends he recognizes on the sidewalk and does what he promised: he takes the lead. But the pace is too fast, and already in the first kilometer, he feels a twinge in his side. He's overtaken by a group. Then a second. His heart starts racing. He slows down. Swarms of runners pass him. Young people. Old people. Women. Third kilometer. Fourth kilometer. At the end of the first lap, Toumany, lost in the pack, tells his friends, "Don't worry, I'll give it my all in the last lap!" But a hundred meters further on, the obvious tells him to stop. He takes advantage of a section deserted by the crowd, walks a few meters, leaves the course, and heads back home. An hour later, his buddies shout at his door, "You're a loser, you're getting overtaken by kids, aren't you ashamed of yourself? I would have bet you didn't even make it to the finish line!" Toumany stammers that he's got a stitch, but nobody buys it; it was shame that stopped him.

D'ordinaire je ne saisis rien à la poésie. Vraiment rien. Cette fois, je crois avoir compris. Il ne faut jamais s'arrêter de courir. C'est au bout du chemin qu'on trouve la liberté.

Mathieu Palain, Don't stop running

I usually don't understand anything about poetry. Absolutely nothing. This time, I think I do. You must never stop running. Only at the end of the road do you find freedom.