Camille falls on the nose. A stupid fall, apparently benign, but Camille feels her nose moving, growing, inside. The fear of looking like Fabio and his big adolescent body, his grandmother deformed by the disease, the pigs of the old man, seized her. Fear of losing shape.
This is not a pipe, it is adolescence in the feminine with its ambiguities, its whims, its desires, its impulses and above all, its very very expensive (and enormous) libido.
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