A cigarette, and my anti-aircraft camera
That day, just after noon, as I was on my way to the cigarette stall (a small table, chairs, a few packs of cigarette of two or three brands, all of them open because they are sold singly) the heavens rang. It was the whistling again, the sound that had begun to play on my nerves, the huge hit of adrenalin freezing everything, even time. The sound of an aircraft, which you hear when you step outside, or more precisely, when you step outside and realize, instinctively, that you are directly inside the target zone.
In films, time stops at such... more