This memory was rattling in my head when I pondered my new child and the woman who’d borne him. The British Trader romantic fire was still smoldering enough to be reignited if need be. But then, that would be doing the bourgeois family thing full-on, with combined finances, expectations of pricey schools, mortgages, the entire needy contraption of settled-down life. To me, only the man who needed nothing was truly free. Until I was financially independent (e.g., fuck-you money), or the captain of a profitable enterprise, I was merely a slave whose bondage was worth one or another price, locked
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