DISORDER: THE IMPORTANT IS... For him, the day is far from over, but the lakeside has become his favorite retreat before his long evening going from table to table selling his carefully wrapped roses one by one. As has been customary for some time, a familiar nostalgia brings him to this often deserted square just as he has just finished his first tour. With his large grocery bag and the bucket of flowers beside him, he lies down, seemingly oblivious to his surroundings. And today, seeing him in his usual posture, I wonder: the important thing is ... the laughing seagull, the telephone and its possible messages, the mist which blurs the border between the sky and the water , or only the rose?