THE FABULOUS STORY OF THE BULLIT
When Bullitt was released, my parents hadn't yet met,
They're still virgins (according to them) and they have no plans to have children. Because a child = responsibilities = constant headaches = goodbye intimacy = dads are an affliction.
Yet when they met, the obvious quickly became clear.
They had to procreate because the attraction was too strong. A higher power ordered them to set the supreme being in motion, and that's what they did as the VHS tape of Bullitt played on my father's VCR.
My father was a car enthusiast. Every Tuesday evening he took me to stock car races in the Pontoise area, where he liked to impress people with his aggressive driving. He even thought of calling me Bullitt before my mother put a stop to it and named me the Queen of Shoes.
I couldn't understand a word they were saying, but from their body language I knew I had to follow them. A crowd gathered in my path, as if I were the chosen one, and at the end of it stood a little guy with shaggy hair, a slightly dirty face, probably from rowdiness with his friends, almond-shaped green eyes, he looked totally dishevelled, in fact under his shirt I could see the T-shirt of a band I didn't know yet, the Clash. The guy who led me to him explained in French that was as good as my English that Peter had chosen me because I was very, very pretty and he wanted to kiss-kiss a French girl. Everyone laughed and Peter grabbed me by the shoulder and placed a kiss on my cheek, intimidated by the audience. Personally, I was captivated by the boy's rebellious angel face. I'd never noticed him before and was extremely surprised and flattered that he should be the one to ask me.
The rest is the stuff of legend. The one that feeds you one pair after another.
