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Saccharoses
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ISBN10: 2709666782
ISBN13: 9782709666787
Publisher: Editions J.C. Lattes
Published: May 14 2024
Pages: 178
Weight: 0.49
Height: 0.41 Width: 5.32 Depth: 8.47
Language: French
ISBN13: 9782709666787
Publisher: Editions J.C. Lattes
Published: May 14 2024
Pages: 178
Weight: 0.49
Height: 0.41 Width: 5.32 Depth: 8.47
Language: French
Three strangers meet in the subway. Three men searching for an ideal, jolted by fantasy and disillusion. Three guys, three stories, but what if it was the same story?
When I was a student I would study my lessons right up to the last minute. Legs numb, my heart beating out of my chest, an irrepressible need to pee in my pants... they were the same feelings I would get just before I kissed a girl for the first time. Her name was Benetton, well, that's what we called her anyway. Don't bother asking her real name. The only name that counted was the one on the t-shirt she wore the first day of class. Embroidered in florescent thread on her tiny breasts that were outlined thanks to the straps of her large book bag: Benetton.
The whole Middle School was in love with her, even the girls went dizzy gazing at this epicenter of femininity. I was crazy about her eyes. They were such an unreal shade of deep blue that the water in the local swimming pool was embarrassed. Just looking into those eyes made me woozy. Only 12 and already drunk. Way too young.
What is the common denominator between an ex-trader who just committed hara-kiri in the garbage shed, a disabused guy fantasizing about a new life with a girl seen in the subway and an author drowning his sorrow watching old movies at the theater?
When I was a student I would study my lessons right up to the last minute. Legs numb, my heart beating out of my chest, an irrepressible need to pee in my pants... they were the same feelings I would get just before I kissed a girl for the first time. Her name was Benetton, well, that's what we called her anyway. Don't bother asking her real name. The only name that counted was the one on the t-shirt she wore the first day of class. Embroidered in florescent thread on her tiny breasts that were outlined thanks to the straps of her large book bag: Benetton.
The whole Middle School was in love with her, even the girls went dizzy gazing at this epicenter of femininity. I was crazy about her eyes. They were such an unreal shade of deep blue that the water in the local swimming pool was embarrassed. Just looking into those eyes made me woozy. Only 12 and already drunk. Way too young.
What is the common denominator between an ex-trader who just committed hara-kiri in the garbage shed, a disabused guy fantasizing about a new life with a girl seen in the subway and an author drowning his sorrow watching old movies at the theater?
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