Tricycle | Awake in the World

BEHIND THE APARTMENT building where I grew up, on the northeast side of Paris, there was a concrete block that we nicknamed le carré, or the square. Its real purpose, as far as I can remember, was to provide ventilation for the building. From time to time, hot dusty air would come out of it. When you sat on le carré, you would have a view of the building that faced ours, with its tiny windows and parking lot. But for my friends and me, it was the concrete nest of our unfinished selves, a silent observer of our gregarious, insecure teenage lives. It was there that we created love stories and dramas.