avec les jardins exotiques
Rest stop by the Autoroute, sometime over the summer, 2000. On the way back from Sanremo where we saw the Ferrari and I had awful tiramisu and that shaggy picture of Erin and me was taken at the restaurant. Sun casting sharp shadows, solid blue sky, Ferrari merchandise in the store. Sheer cliffs of white stone down toward the ocean, no beach. John, David, Stephen and Paul carrying on in the convenience store.
What a waste. Whole years of my life thrown away, twisting in my memory. The trip wasn’t; if nothing else it served as a placeholder until the next in 2004 and provided a slice-of-life demo of city life in Nice, but I should never have been involved with her. Never. I cringe when I think about specific moments on that trip, and there were more than a handful. She was gone for the last two days, and as much as I missed her at the time I’m glad for that brief respite.