This afternoon I was sitting on an electric blue seat of the tube number 14, heading to Gare de Lyon, and I looked at a Chinese boy of about sixteen that in turn was looking at a French girl of about sixteen. She was looking at him and was obviously in love, he kept on laughing, totally embarrassed, and moving his legs as if they didn’t belong to his body. He commented on every station as if every station needed to be commented on. At a certain point she did something crucial: she pointed at a precise spot in the landscape running outside the window, grazing the cheek of the Chinese boy with her coat sleeve. An invisible movement of loving and violent things happened. The Chinese boy stopped talking at last and she looked at him with loving eyes. I am sure that certain gestures, seemingly irrelevant, can turn the tide of a day. And maybe of a night too.