Brest, finally. But the past is a strange companion. Before the long drive I found a photo in my mail. Thanks, Gudrun, looks like a guy to steal horses with, and fighting windmills! And, well, a strand of green ended up in my hair, which was then dyed over again. A lot of things fell apart back then, slightly crazy prunes thought I was a womanizer with hypnotic powers, but my heart was a clean slate, in the right place, and I loved H (a woman, not heroin) without any doubts or double bottoms. Now, a few winters later, I travel to Brittany with an old beret and a lust for life like a thousand dime novels. (m.e.)