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In Marseille, as we lay in the hotel bed, my back to him, pretending I was asleep, he said into my hair, “When I’m inside you it’s like I’m home.”

I’d shivered in disgust. Sensing my shiver as if it were a tremble of love, he squeezed me and whispered, “Sadie.”

“ ‘You’re always talking about your status, your role, the part you played,’ they tell me. ‘Victories aren’t about credit,’ they say. By Pascal’s rules, everything must be an invisible ‘we.’ Well, you know what, Pascal, some of us were born an invisible ‘we.’ Some of us are from a nameless nothing,…

I wanted to return to my rented jalopy on the town square

Bruno said that transmigration, what some called metempsychosis, wasn’t magic in the degraded sense of taking place outside physical laws or as conjured by people draped in wizards’ cloaks.

The banner photo on grown-up Franck’s Facebook page was of a race car. It would be acceptable to me in the what-became-of-Franck genre if he were a race car driver. But this was a commercial photo, an advertisement for Lamborghini, a make whose broad fan base has never owned and will never own actu…