I sat in Yolande and listened to the zephyr song. The wind carried the promises of lovers and fools from the secret places of this world.

’Let’s take a walk my love,’ a breeze creep ed into my ear.

Then the wind was wordless with breathy temptation.

I drove Yolande away and continued with my life. Eat, sleep, repeat.

Yolande’s engine died a few months pack. Yesterday, someone scribbled ‘Be careful what you pack’ in the lump y dust on her windows. I took an old blue friend off the clothes rack.

I sat in grave Yolande. I stepped on the accelerator. I used the brake. I turned the silent stereo to another phantom channel. My first stop will be a white city twice as old as time and when I reach it I shall step out of my broken Yolande, famous blue raincoat around my shoulders.

When people stroll by I explain that I am driving to secret places, the white city and the hatchery of zephyrs. They never stay to chat and I am disheartened.

But Yolande reminds me what matters.

We believe.