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Yes?
Francine.
Francine... I remember it exactly.
It was the 15th of May.
Spring was late to arrive and rain clouds were gathering.
And you were screaming.
Good luck.
And of course you were accepted.
You left Boston and moved to live in Paris.
A small apartment on a street in the Faubourg Saint-Denis.
I showed you my neighborhood, my bars, my school.
I introduced you to my friends.
My parents.
I listened to you as you learned your lines.
I listened to your singing, to your hopes.
Your desires. I listened to your music.
And you listened to mine.
You listened to my Italian, German, Russian.
I gave you a walkman and you gave me a pillow.
And then one day, you kissed me.
Time passed.
Time raced.
And everything seemed so easy,
so simple.
Free.
So new and unique.
We went to the movies.
We went dancing.
Shopping.
We laughed.
You cried.
We swam, we smoked.
We shaved.
From time to time you screamed.
Without reason.
Sometimes with reason.
Yes, sometimes with reason.