Already their nights were spent reminiscing about other legendary nights from years back. They liked to tell Paul these stories, but really they were talking to themselves, to their pasts. But then there were the nights when everything came together, and Paul knew these would be talked about in the same breath as all the other nights they’d told him about, the ones he’d not been around for. Then came the night that ended them all. It was Paul’s seventeenth birthday. The plan was to go to Sainte Croix to pick up some ganja from a friend of Maja’s. Paul and Jean-Marie were waiting for the others to pick them up. It was just around sunset. Pointe aux Sables being on the west coast meant they got the full force of it. If you sat on the veranda you couldn’t see the sun setting, just the high garden wall and the trees and the sky above you, but that was what Paul liked: he liked the way the sky turned a funny colour, turned everything a funny colour, though you couldn’t see the source of the light.
