Shouldn’t we always be disturbed by such elegant surfaces, by the tendency to prune? Don’t we always need to look round the back to see what made all this happen? Should I have reveled so easily in the bourgeois luxury? Given who I was, who we were, who we are, what we’d been talking about, how was reveling so easy? This is a bit of navel-gazing, but if you gaze anywhere with a critical eye, you do have to look at your own belly, too.
