Bonjour.

Bonjour.

Sleep well?

Yeah, fine.

Good.
I know what it's like
to be on the road.

Were you on the road?

We moved with the herds.
Six months in the hills,
six months in the valleys.

With a wife and a herd,
it's different, more like moving house.

Not the same kind of road as yours.
We've all got to do
our thing, don't we?
That's how it is.
Do you travel alone?
You don't get lonely?

It's good to be alone.

I've spent Christmas alone.
I watched people stuffing themselves.
I was alone.

When it's cold, it's nice.
Roads aren't so crowded.
It's easier to hitch rides.

It all depends how nice the man is
who picks you up or doesn't.
If he picks you up, you're lucky.
And luckier if he doesn't pester you.

I don't care, I move.

Maybe you're freer than I am.
Good for you.
I chose a middle road
between loneliness and freedom.

People bugged me for a long time,
but that's all over now.

You chose total freedom
but you got total loneliness.
The time comes when if you go on,
you destroy yourself.
You head for destruction.
If you want to live, you stop.
My friends who stayed on the road
are dead now,
or else they fell apart:
alcoholics, or junkies.
Because the loneliness
ate them up, in the end.