Hum… the dangerous may be the ones wearing their belly with pride and anger, high and up in the front, their stomach preceding them, like a weapon. It seems all their sense of power is there, adding sufficiency and contempt towards others: women, people of other countries called less industrialized, people less rich. The belly is not so large, still everything disappears behind it, the people around them, the individual they are; their thoughts remains… their pride, their salary, their fear of not having everything.
Sitting on the famous sofa, my eyes wander… Have you ever noticed how men’s bellies come in so many shapes? A shape, a character? One is coming toward me, timid, a little round, the belly towards the inside, all in good-humor –bon-enfant- without real pride. The belly weighs a little, not to the point of shame, rather a slight discomfort. It is not that the belly is too voluminous; rather its owner lacks this extra confidence in him, to carry his belly high and strong. “I’m shy” says the belly.
Same sofa, same coffee place, same time, and here they are joining me again for breakfast, these two former rugby men, and the baby. Tall, muscular, caring, protector, like giants holding the most delicate crystal flowers of life, a small baby… That must be it, the new version of toughness and masculinity, the new Malboro’s man.