En France Sur La Plage
In everything I recounted, there were clues.This was Elodie’s idea; a shock, I never sought this. A droll sense of irony; I came to Paris for a fresh start. I drove from Sainte Maxime to this beach and confronted history.Old recollections niggled and gnawed, they itched like needles under the skin. A ghost haunted my thoughts, Anne-Pierre, and I could not exorcise her. Memories rolled in like the waves and their halcyon sentiments of nostalgia. My devil-may-care attitude, it snapped and...
True