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.