As mentioned before, I spend many days of my childhood in the warm embrace of the Swiss mountains. Half of my immediate family lives here, and according to my grandfather I always drive the winding mountain roads as if I’ve been living here for years. I always remind myself that he thinks most people here drive like crazy bastards, but I take it as a compliment none the less.
The wind is beating us, carrying a mechanical voice with it, coming from the beach, but we can’t make out what he is saying. Continue reading “Waiting, Waiting, Waiting…”