In this chapter, Bauby finally recounts the events of the day of his stroke—Friday, December 8, 1995. He muses that, since beginning the book, he has intended to describe the last moments of his former, normal life. He confesses that, having put it off for so long, the prospect of re-telling it makes him dizzy.

On the morning of December 8, he awakens, perhaps a bit grumpily, beside “the lithe, warm body of a tall, dark-haired woman”—his new girlfriend Florence (119). The gray, muted city of Paris is in the grips of a transport strike, which is fraying the nerves of its millions of denizens. He mechanically carries out quotidian tasks that now seem miraculous to him: shaving, dressing, and drinking a hot chocolate. On that day, he had an appointment to test the latest model of a German automobile, and the importer had given him the gunmetal BMW and a driver for the entire day.

He and Florence exchange rushed goodbyes, “their lips scarcely brushing together”, before he runs down the stairs that smelled of floor polish—the last smells of his past. Once he gets into the car, the crisis-riddled traffic reports are punctuated by the Beatles song “A Day in the Life”.