[...] There was a pair of thick floor-length brown velvet curtains (that were pulled shut) and some candles burning (and some lamps) and on the couch there was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, done up with dark hair and red lips and oversized glasses (her hair like a dark silent river, a river that was moving in complete silence, that’s what it seemed like the first time I saw her) and her ears (don’t even ask me about her ears), I can’t even describe her ears, she had hair pulled back over one of them and it was like seeing the earth from space, the hollow earth (or seeing yourself as a foetus, in the womb of your mother), and she was smoking a cigarette, her arm at a perfect angle (taut, not without effort, but still somehow easy, relaxed), and she was so slim (barely budding) yet (still) she seemed sophisticated and mysterious and old. This relationship is ass-backwards, I said to myself. Her name was Valentine (how could it have been anything else?). This is Valentine, Patty said, my paramour (that’s how he introduced her). I felt unsophisticated (and poor). Valentine stood up and offered me her cheek. I forgot that in France you are supposed to kiss both cheeks so I did it all over again and she laughed but when I looked into her eyes they were like marbles. Let’s get something to eat, Patty said, grabbing his coat, and although I had already eaten I decided to go with the flow.