It is a Sunday. `Sombre dimanche`. That was a song from Nicos youth. he can only remember one line from it: 'Je mourai un dimanche où trop j`aurai souffert.` That sentence pleases him greatly. A part of the melody comes back to him.

He hums as he goes outside for a morning walk, armed with his umbrella because it is pouring from the sky. Just the weather he likes. In the distance, he sees an acquaintance coming his way. Nico fails to avoid him. `Crazy weather, right`, the acquaintance says from under his umbrella. 'It`s great isn't it`, Nico says.
`You call this great?`, the acquaintance says and quickly walks on.
`Yes, I call this great`, Nico yells after him angrily.

It stops raining. He still keeps his umbrella up to provoke a new downpour, but  sadly to no avail. The sun even begins to shine a little. Fortunately  just a faint, thin sunshine. Nevertheless, the weather gods are not cooperating.

`I will die on a Sunday, on which i will have suffered too much` Nico continues to hum in order to sing some courage to himself. Not too much courage, of course, because that would not suit him.
Once he gets back home home, he undresses himself and goes into his bathroom. He does not turn the water on. Longing for rain he stands naked in his shower

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