Every day in the public squares of France, old men in flat hats gather together to play boules. Casting their heavy metal balls in the direction of a much smaller wooden ball, and crowding round to adjudicate on whose boule is the nearest; they pace slowly up and down the dusty pitch from hour to hour. They whisper quietly to each other, smoke their aromatic cigarettes, and wilfully pretend not to notice the bustle of everyday life going on about them. One day, no doubt, you will be tempted to stop for a moment to watch the game. Everyone does at some point in their life. How simple it all looks. So much simpler than the complicated life you lead. You imagine the pleasing sense of a pendulous weight in your hand, your arm swinging gently. The instinctive, uneducated combination of hand and eye as you set the boule on its way. The smooth untroubled parabolic flight. The strong clean controlled clack as your boule ricochets off an opponents' boule. A gentle nestling up against the smooth natural surface of the wood. You have won.

No. You are too young, too busy for this simple game. You are, in fact, in a hurry, and should not have stopped. And yet, one old man has now turned to face you. He stares at you coldly for a moment, sizing you up. Perhaps you are in his way, standing in his line of fire? He turns to his comrades, whispers quietly and then faces you again. This time, though, he is smiling warmly. He beckons to you. You are unsure. Does he mean you? He beckons again. 'Come' he is saying. 'Join us'. And in an instant, you understand. Your life is over. You have been summoned to join the ranks of the old boules players. In a moment you will feel the worn lump of iron in your hand. It will feel like it was always meant to be there. You will crouch slightly, narrow your eyes swing your arm back and forwards slowly and then, in one swift movement, the boule will be released. You are dreaming of the perfect throw. A firm but not too fast arc, with a touch of back spin that lands precisely beside the tiny wooden sphere. You have won. And your prize is death.