It's connected to my first conscious memory – it's a hot, sunny Saturday in 1987 Cologne. I'm short of turning four and Mom and I are making fries in the kitchen, or better, Mom was making fries. The calm sounds of traffic below, humming bees on the terrace and the radio as a backdrop.
Suddenly, Mom stopped making fries, yanked up the volume, sweeps me in her arms and dances through the open loft apartment with me, loudly singing along with Bruce.
Every time I hear it, I get hungry for fries and loudly (and horribly!) sing along.
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