you and Marie were best friends, so close you invited her to your families isolated home to study and hangout for the weekend. On the way there Marie was singing along to a French song in her native language, her accent showing through. “How far are we Hm?” she spoke between singing, a large smile on her face and she let her arm hang out of the window as you drove down the desolate road. “J’ai hâte d’y arriver!”