Lauret’s parents named him after a sweet village in Southern France they had visited on their honeymoon. They were married in the chill of January, when frigid cold held the Languedoc vines in a suspended sort of death. Their marriage was similarly icy. Rarely, when he was growing up, did Lauret remember his parents kissing, holding hands or exchanging a word more than the situation demanded. Now, that he was blessedly away from their winter grip, Lauret took to the challenge of mapping out a viable career as a musician with zeal, passion and unabashed optimism. He reasoned that he had traveled too far from the misery of his childhood to not make something great from the cold ashes of middle school and high school. He told anyone who would listen, he sang it in his songs, would have shouted it from the rooftops if it didn’t piss off his neighbors, that you do what you have to do. He has a wide following, a solid 36 fans on Twitter. His musician page on Facebook regularly garners, let’s just say “many” likes. He posts pictures on Instagram and if his friend at the ad agency is to be believed, he is on the cusp of selling one of his songs to accompany a go-get ‘em Hertz spot. He is thrilled that he is finally in control of it all. The challenge remains paying his rent.