The Image - 1975 (2K Render)
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When I saw Claire again for the first time that summer, it was at a party given by, oh, let's say the exes near the Place de la Concorde.
The entire summer had been lovely, but that evening was particularly beautiful.
I was late as usual.
Normally, I detest literary cocktail parties,
as anyone who attends them regularly should,
if he has any self-respect at all.
I had just come out of a long siege with a short story.
A short story that had enormous resistance to being completed,
and had I not...
I would confess that I was genuinely pleased to be once more among the living.
How are you? I do fine.
Excuse me. What struck me most about seeing Claire again was that she hadn't changed at all.
I felt as if I had just left her the night before.
Although in reality, I hadn't seen her for at least two or three years, maybe more.
Freedlander?
Coudrin. I said hello to other people, but I meticulously avoided getting involved in the peculiar kind of pointless argument
which is so typical at that kind of party.
I remember that I noticed something then in which I wouldn't have minded getting involved, and it was dressed all in white.
As I think back, she had made more of an impression on me than the usual pretty girl one sees at parties.
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