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“In the life of a tourist who travels a bit far, I think that at a certain point, a question necessarily arises: ‘But what have I come here for?’ Question that sets in motion the great cinema of justification to oneself, so that one doesn’t have to seriously say to oneself: ‘I’m here to do nothing.’ Boys like Moussa and Mohammed are well aware of this fact: they have to capture their tourist in order to help him in the job of doing nothing from morning till night. Because in all places in the world, men always have something to do, and this is the greatest marvel in the world, the harmony of habits that no one has decided upon, the confused beauty of the animatedness of cities. A tourist, instead, is a phantom who hangs around, dazed, outside of that single harmonious dream, precisely because he has been transported to a place to not do anything, except spend money. . .”
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