The shot … before a long winter evening. Tonight in downtown Montpellier, it’s racing. It is 5:45 p.m., fifteen minutes before the start of the curfew and the obligation, everywhere in France, to remain sealed at home. “I don’t have time to talk to you!” smiles a lady who is about to get on the tram, Place de la Comédie, to return to her home. “I work in Béziers and I jumped on the 4:46 pm train to get to Montpellier on time, do one or two small errands and get home… It’s speed!” explains Kennedy, in his thirties, queuing in front of Monoprix, like twenty-five other people waiting their turn to enter before the doors close.