The Daughter's Race
Let us try to understand how this came about. Quick, because the story is told fast.
It begins outside a hotel on the Croisette. Volatile. Casual. A flirtation from which more could arise. The appetent approach. Almost desire and then it goes all the way. They romp around the beach and she also unties his bowtie.
“Honey, no,” her friends warn her. But who listens to friends at such a moment? Who could have guessed that her father was in such a bad mood today.
“Thank you for bringing my girl,” the old man then whispered in his villa – and escalated everything.
“I think you’ll get out of here now. And then you’ll just do one thing. Never come here again.” Whether he had to repeat his sentences, the old man asked.
“I think you’ll get out of here now. And then you’ll just do one thing. Never come here again.”
The racer was quiet. Calm. He remained calm as the sea in its silent hour in Saint Tropez. But their faces met menacingly close.
How can you solve this? You will meet again. So much is clear. They will go and change now. Then one will rise in the Ford GT 40 and the other in the Ferrari 512. Whatever will be.
Mon Dieu. Mio Dio. Dear God. So it will be.