We are the 17th July 1959. The dawn is already mourning the loss of Billie Holiday, which lies in a pitiful state on his bed in the Metropolitan Hospital in Harlem. Skin and bones, barely breathing, almost comatose, the greatest of all jazz singers is paying for thirty years of consumption of drug : cirrhosis, renal impairment, and, now, a congestion of the brain. This time, it is really damn. Two days ago, she received the last sacraments, the death will land. We had warned her in the beginning of the year that her cirrhosis had progressed well and that it falla...

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