It's been 18 months since you left me for a crusher in a junkyard in the middle of a Parisian dormitory suburb. We lived some moments. The jealous ones will say that you were a calf, I would answer them that I had a good catch. Well, mostly plums while sailing from Portugal to Belgium, through Germany and Italy. I used to turn heads when you stopped at 130 km/h on the highway. I have never made a woman scream as loud as I did at that moment. I often thought that your tennis past forced you to work in fits and starts, but deep down I tell myself that 250,000 km in a Made in Sochaux gasoline engine already makes me proud.