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He comes, every night. He doesn’t text me during the day or give me any notice. I text him if it’s not a good night. If David is in town. He always comes even if just to tell me he can’t come, that Clémentine is staying home. Usually this is just after she has come over herself, so I already know, …

I don’t want a baby, Florence. I want to sit here and read. I want to go out for a drink. I want to listen to my hi-fi. I want to take the night train. I want to work as late as I want and spend my pay cheque on a sharkskin suit. I want to fuck you on the beach and take you to Australia, throw mass…

On the way home I think about my feelings of envy for Claude. I want a baby, but do I really want to be in her place? In her chic suburb with her asshole husband? Still, I do, I envy her. She’s secure enough to do it, in spite of her asshole husband, she is her own supporting wall. That is what I e…

[...] It really feels like things might be changing, like we might actually have a chance at changing the law. (The more he sits there, rigid, the angrier I get. It seems to me, with Henry sitting beside me, still angry that I dared to buy a paper he doesn’t like, that it is men like him who might …

Florence is practising the piano and I want to go out. I don’t want to go out with her but I want to go out and if I want to go out I have to run it past her. It’s an antisocial act, a marriage-betraying act, simply to leave. So I sit here behind her, watching her back, waiting for a pause.

When…