I like to believe objects have a soul. It doesn't have anything to do with value, only with projected memories, affection, or the help, support or company that an object may have brought.
My scooter looks like he worked as extra in Wall-e, a real piece of yard junk: loose pieces, the back light holds with wire, the whole front part is tapped together, the side mirrors no longer match, brake fluid leaked on the plastic casing and ate at it. I haven't locked it in over two years because no one in his right mind would steal it.
But it was a gift, it became part of my life in this city and it never, never let me down. Paris is a dangerous city for moped drivers, and I was never hurt with it. I can park it for 3 weeks in front of a train station in Paris and come back, and there it is, standing, waiting. Nothing compares to the feeling of driving a scooter around Paris, at night in the summer, when the air is hot and the streets are empty.
Libellés : Picky lifestyle