At that time I was working on my human hunting trophies, moulds of people, which stick out on from the wall like the head of a stag or of a wild boar. This work requires great concentration, but not too much thinking, like most jobs that are being finished off. All morning, with my hands in plaster, I thought about the rough man I'd seen earlier,that I had disturbed in the environment that he had manufactured for himself, like a cocoon, to protect him from the cold. The weather announced a forthcoming milder spell, but for 15 days it had been really very cold.

There were several things which worried me in this business and which kept coming back to me, either in an emotional way, or for intellectual reasons. First this cold, like a fundamental attack on our integrity. I remembered the account of a friend who this summer had spent a month in Greeland in temperatures of around 0ºC. For him it had been a test of the limits the bearable, although he was very well equipped with a tent, polar wool, Š nothing helped, the humidity prevents the body from warming up. About fifteen homeless people had already died during the last fifteen days. And then this cocoon business, a makeshift shelter, which had to be rebuilt every evening in order to survive one more night, and which had to be cast off the next day as if one was moulting. And then this agressive reaction towards me, because I was starting to encroach on his territory. This territory business. Those are no longer territories like the ones I set up in my work; it was territory in its most fundamental, most instinctive, most vital sense. At the same time I thought that whatever happened, even if I had helped him today, he would be there again tomorrow; and also why him rather than another? Him, because it was him that I had disturbed this morning, him that I had taken for a dustbin.

So I stopped working and I went to see where he was still in the same place, of course. Where else would you expect him to go? He was sitting in the middle of his cardboard boxes and he was waiting. It is stupid, but the first thing I did was to apologize again. Then I asked him whether he wanted to come and have some coffee in my studio. He did not react much, I thought that he did not understand what I wanted from him. I just wanted him to warm himself a bit at my place and to fill his stomach a bit, take a break from the cold. He said that he was not cold on his underground entrance. Come off it, itıs hardly 1ºC, what a liar! Quarter of an hour later I persuaded him to follow me thanks to the coffee and the fact it was not too far. He rose and started to put away his things, to fold up some cardboard boxes. On the top one it said DO NOT TOUCH. He took one of his bags and followed me.

I talked about unimportant things to break the silence and from time to time I asked a question. His name was Bernard and he was 41 years old. At the end of an hour his face started to relax and took on a normal color. He asked me whether he could have a shave. He had his razor with him. I told him he could. He came out on the bathroom quite happy. He seemed interested by the human hunting trophies, and began to ask questions about what I was doing. He had been a hairdresser. I showed him how I work with plaster and I explained why I do this work. Then I showed him the photographs of the peolpe who had been entirely coverd with a latex skin, which in fact makes these strange beings look like frogs. I think Bernard was intrigued. He wanted to go back to his underground entrance. I asked him wether he needed anything, if I should call some charity organisation; the answer was categorical: he would not sleep even here. He asked me wether tomorrow I would be here and if he could come back to my place. I was glad for a while that he had finally accepted something from me. So I told him Iıd see him the next day.

The next day I made him the following proposition: to scan his whole body and to sell 10cm. squares of his skin on the Internet.