Une reve je me souviens.
I am driving down a road well-known to me, but I blow way past my turn-off to go home. The road is dirt and blustery. A road crew is working and a young man signals me to stop. I get out of my car and he tells me the road is closed, I should turn back, and can he help me any further? He is a ginger. He is tall and rugged and very handsome. I am sheepish and thank him, no. He was very at ease, humble, brushed away dust or dirt from his right eye.
I felt I should say more, say what I wanted to say, but I didn't.
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