By Fredrick Soukup
Six years of French classes haven’t prepared Melody to explain to anyone why she left America. Could she translate, she would say she needs a break from the sedated, glossy and superficial, and that defection seems the only failsafe way to escape these traps herself. Could they translate in return, the French would inform her that such societal sins aren’t exclusive to America, but to modernity. Instead, she smiles and exchanges pleasantries with them, and construes them as bystanders to her journey toward greater inner strength and authenticity.
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