Chez Pierre
The car hummed comfortably. It did not seem to touch the road. The landscape flashed by. So did age old trees and even older houses. It drove through crumbling villages and past endless knee-high walls that were meant to protect them from a dive into the lake. The twilight had a golden touch. The sun had already sunk behind the mountains, but the sky still held on to the light. It painted a myriad of feathery clouds in a shade of apricot. Angique sat in the corner of the tan leather seat. She...