The summer of 1985 Albert, Serge, Jacques Negrit and I opened a nightclub in Nice. Our vehicle was Albert’s Chrysler Imperial. The city’s narrow streets were hell on the mirrors. The long black car had class, although we wished it was a convertible.
Our villa was covered with grape vines.
There was no AC or fans.
During the day it got very hot and we went to Nice to swim in the Med.
Jacques loved the beach.
The Guadalopean was a strong swimmer.
Stronger than me.
A god to the girls on the rocky beach.
But I threw a football with a spiral.
And Jacques caught my tosses with big hands.
Serge and Albert were after a good ‘bronzage’.
The sun shone brightly on the azure sea.
My friend Julie and Brigitte had a place up the coast in Antibes.
The terrace had a view of the curving bay.
I liked the beach at Antibes better than Nice.
The Baie Doree was blessed by soft gray sand and a subtle breeze carried the scent of the Sahara.
I wish I was back there today.
Instead I’m off to the Rockaways for an evening walk in the summer rain.
On the A train the beach was only an hour away and the price of the voyage is $6.
Back and forth.
It’s a good place too, especially with your friends.