Sasha is like Duras’ Lol Stein, she numbs herself with another Pernod, please, a bottle of wine on the tic, she numbs herself with passivity, but she is wide open to the cruel world, as if a layer of skin has been flayed off, and she cannot keep from being seduced by the past. She sits in public at cafes, feeling on Exhibition. She cries in public. She is a wound ripped open. “Today I must be very careful, today I have left my armour at home.” She cannot but sink back to the past, flashbacks of her baby dying, her husband leaving, humiliating encounters with the outside world, piggy bosses and
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