Entertainment was hard to come by in the countryside in the 1960s. One uneventful June afternoon, the maid gave in to my begging and took me on her Solex to the village fête. Still a little girl, I discovered the language of love by watching a couple riding in a bumper car. The man looked triumphant, and the girl holding him by the waist seemed hypnotized. Together they were zigzagging across the track, swollen with innocent and barbarous joy, reaching out towards their destiny. They burst with laughter every time they collided with another car, bracing themselves as the girl’s blonde hair flew in all directions.
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