We were both conscious that we weren’t in the right era, it was picture perfect 1960s. We were by the water, a crystal clear St-Laurence river like I’d never seen before. La Ronde only had a couple rides, wooden ones, not as colourful as they are now, which was a beautiful contrast with the endless forest across the bridge and the turquoise waters. We decided to take a piece of wood and drift down wherever the current would take us. We were too heavy so half our bodies were in the water, we could see the bottom and the fish swimming beneath us. It took us somewhere in hochealga, to a little boat house, smaller than our bedroom at home, the boat was gone but we decided to go and rest inside, away from the scorching yet soul-warming sun. We started to undress and make love, only to realize people were walking and talking not to far from our hiding spot. The magic of dreams transformed the tiny boat house into a full hotel room. It resembled a cave, something out of Dracula, but warmer, with a candlelit glow. The walls painted red, the ceilings so high and arched that they seemed endless. It was almost church like. And there we made love, as we usually do, but in a context so different it felt like it was out of a black and white movie.



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