I go swimming every day, I have a muscular back and shoulders, I have short hair that's brown with a bit of gray at the front, I have part of a Caravaggio tattooed on my left arm and delicate lettering on my stomach that says Son of a Bitch, I'm tall and slim, I have small breasts, I have a ring in my right ear, I wear jeans, canvas pants, black or white T-shirts, men's shirts in summer, an old leather jacket and Converse or Church's, I don't wear a bra, I sleep in men's gray Oxford boxers, I don't wear makeup, I brush my teeth three times a day, I don't use deodorant, I don't sweat a lot but sometimes I like to, the cologne I wear is called Habit Rouge, sometimes I feel like switching to something else but the girls like it, so I stick with it, I also smell of chlorine, what with all the swimming, I smoke Marlboro lights in the evening, I don't drink a lot, I don't take drugs, I live in Paris in a studio near Denfert Rochereau, I don't have any furniture apart from a double mattress I got from a discount store on rue Saint Maur and a plank of wood with trestles, 17.90 euro the set from Bricorama on Avenue Flandre, I don't like stuff, I don't have any pans, cutlery, or plates apart from a few disposable ones, so I don't have to do any washing up, I don't have any money because I don't give a shit, I'd rather write than work, I don't feel 47, I guess I'll wake up one day and suddenly be old, unless I die before then, like my mother did, apart from the fact that I don't see my son anymore, everything's going well, he's eight, my son, then he'll be nine, then ten, then eleven, his name is Paul, he's great.

[...] So I spit it out, I say, I've started seeing girls. Just in case there was any doubt in his mind, with the new short hair, the new tattoos, the look in general. It's basically the same as before, obviously just a bit more distinct. It's not as if he never had his doubts. We had a little chat about it, a good ten years ago. I said, Nope, no idea what you're talking about. I mean I'm dating girls, I say to him now. Fucking girls would be more accurate. He says, All I want is for you to be happy. This sounds like a lie but it suits me fine, I don't reply. He's barely touched his croque monsieur, he lights a cigarette, calls the waiter over, orders more champagne. That's what he's drinking these days, he says it agrees with him, that it makes him feel less shitty in the morning. The check comes, he pays, we leave. Instead of going his own way on Boulevard Saint-Germain, he walks me towards the Seine. When we get to my door, he goes to follow me upstairs, as if we hadn't been separated for three years, as if I hadn't just told him what I just told him. I say no, he says, Have it your way.

The next day he messages me, Yesterday was nice what are you doing tonight? I thought we'd settled things but maybe he's thought about it and wants to talk some more. We've hardly seen each other in three years, I liked it just fine that way. But I agree to meet him, I tell myself I probably owe him that much. He comes to pick me up outside my house in a taxi, it looks like he's made an effort, he's made reservations at a restaurant in another district, a fairly chic place in the courtyard of an hôtel particulier. He talks to the waiters like a regular, he orders a good wine like a connoisseur, he acts like some guy trying to impress his girlfriend. Maybe this is what he does now with girls, maybe he wants to show me, try out his techniques. He wanted to meet but he's not saying anything, he's not asking any questions, not a word about yesterday, nothing about him or me, we talk about holidays, foreign countries, books we've read, as though we're politely humoring each other on a date that's not going anywhere. He wants us to walk home together, I make sure there's enough space between our bodies, not too close, not too far, as if everything were normal. The Marais, the Seine, Notre-Dame, we're like a Chinese couple on honeymoon. Once again he walks me right to my door, once again he wants to come up with me, to kiss me, once again he seems surprised when I say no.

First there was Socrates, then Jesus, then Oscar Wilde, and now me. We're a select few. And while I'm at it, there was also Spinoza: “Cursed be he by day and cursed be he by night; cursed be he when he lies down and cursed be he when he rises up; The Lord will not spare him.” You just don't get that kind of writing from the Judicial Court of Paris these days. No great life is complete without a trial, you have to ruffle a few feathers, you can't just be a good little child all your life.

I took the first apartment I could find, 500 euros for 100ft2 just behind the Pantheon. There's a little square downstairs, a few cafes, students everywhere, a kebab shop called With Or Without Fries, a Lebanese restaurant opposite that sells chicken kebab for 4.90 euro, the swimming pool isn't far, I have a fridge that I have to unplug at night because of the noise, a plastic plant on the windowsill, a mattress on wooden slats, two drawers, a shower in the corner of the room, a laundromat just downstairs, the place gets no natural light in the day but there's a bright light coming from a spotlight just beneath the window at night, the phone doesn't work, it's a bit like a cave, I'm stealing WiFi from the neighbors. 100ft2 is the size of a prison cell or a monk's cell. It's very Ignatius of Loyola, very spiritual retreat. There's a certain joy that comes from doing things you didn't think yourself capable of.

It's the tipping point, the Kairos, it's like the conversion of Saint Augustine, just as radical. It's not just a matter of him believing in God or me liking women, it's the fact that there's a life before and a life after. For me, homosexuality isn't about who I'm fucking, it's about who I become. With men there was always a limit, now I have all the space I want, I feel like I can do anything. Women, love, sex, in the beginning it was all new and exciting, but not anymore. It's all still there, of course, it's still the subject matter of what's happening to me, but it's not important, like the décor of a room, I have to go beyond that to find what I'm looking for. For me, homosexuality just means taking a break from everything. That's exactly what it is, a long vacation, expansive as the sea with nothing on the horizon, nothing to close it, nothing to define it. That's why I quit my job. To be both the master and the slave, the only one responsible for setting the limits. Work, family, apartments, finito. And you can't imagine how good it feels.

If I'd have settled for just liking women, it would've been fine, I think. Lesbian lawyer, same life, same income, same appearance, same opinions, same ideals, same relationship to work, money, love, family, society, the material world, the body. If I still had the same relationship to the world, it would've been much less hassle. But that wasn't an option, that's not how it works, I didn't go through all this just for more of the same. I did it for a new life, for the adventure. I think that's what makes them so mad, Laurent, the judges, all the people who don't speak to me anymore. As if they'd never felt it themselves, the temptation to just chuck it all in. As if it were that big a deal, as if they were the ones stealing food from Franprix, walking a tightrope.

I might have given up everything but I'm not doing anything out of the ordinary. I go to bed early, I get up early, I don't drink, I don't take drugs, I don't spend my Sunday afternoons doing BDSM, I'm not fighting any battles, I'm not part of any community, I don't have any particular affinities. Swimming, reading, writing, and seeing girls, like an ascetic. If it weren't for the cigarettes and the sex, I'd be practically straight edge, hardcore in my own way. Of course it'd be total anarchy if everyone lived like I do. I'll pay for it, there's no doubt about it, just give me the check, la cuenta por favor, no problemo, you always have to pay in the end.

Not having any money gives a sharp clarity to everything. 100ft2, two pairs of jeans, three T-shirts, an old leather jacket and my old Rolex, just for a laugh, a single espresso to go, a baguette, a packet of cigarettes, my swimming pool pass. The world is turning into a skeleton without any flesh. I'm getting stronger, more focused. It's important to have limits so you don't lose yourself in the chaos. I've been stealing from Franprix and Bio c’ Bon, I don't pay my train fare, I jump the barrier, I've learned to ask my friends for a hundred euros, let them pay for my drinks, thank you friends, there are thousands of things I can do without, the doctor for example (but not cigarettes), I'm living on nothing, learning the techniques, getting through the days. Sometimes I steal to eat, sometimes it's just for the sake of it, for the beauty of the gesture. I'm training myself to be indestructible, I need to know that I am.

It wouldn't be the same if I had a safety net, a family to rely on, an inheritance stashed away somewhere, a piece of something or perhaps someone. But I don't have anything. And I don't really have anyone, either. Apart from my dad, who doesn't have a cent to his name, and a few friends, I don't talk to anyone. The conditions are perfect. I'm doing this for real. That's all that matters. It has to be real. There has to be a risk. That's the only thing that counts. I've seen what happened to my parents, to all the clients I've defended, I know it's a slippery slope. I haven't been wrapped in cotton wool like people always think, because of my family name, or because they're morons making lazy assumptions about things that are none of their business. As if the borders were sealed off, as if violence, death and poverty were non-existent among the bourgeoisie. So yes, walking along the rooftops without a safety net, that's the way I like it. I think this is what I've always wanted. It's the kind of life I imagined as a child, when I'd climb the trees and think about the future. Maybe my lousy romanticism doesn't count for anything. But that's the way it is. A life of convenience, a full fridge, the thought makes me want to die.

I don't flirt, I never flirt, I often say no and sometimes say yes. It doesn't really have anything to do with sex, let alone love. I'm starting to realize I can have just about anyone. You just need to have the guts, because everyone's so bored, everyone's waiting so desperately for something to happen.