Anna Gavalda. A breath of freedom (№ 142789)

It is - we have inside! Our heads are clogged with many things that have nothing to do with their racist nonsense. There is music and writers. Roads, thresholds, den. Plumes of falling stars on the receipts from Visa cards, torn out pages and filled with happy memories and terrible. Songs and ditties that revolve on the tongue. Notes stored "memories", your favorite books, gummi bears and scratched vinyls. Our childhood, our lonely vigil, our first experiences and future plans. All those hours of feverish expectation at the door and willingness to help a neighbor.
... All made by us stupidity and remorse, and bubbles that we were allowed at the funeral...
All of our failed love Affairs, broken letters, friends that you can always call. And memorable night, and this mania to move and shift from place to place. And that stranger or the stranger whom we accidentally push on the run, chasing the bus that we will not wait.