I get up early, I close the bedroom door, I walk through the hallway, the living room. I make a coffee, I throw on a pair of pants, a shirt, I grab a nectarine, I leave a note, I take my bike, I go swimming. She's awake when I get back. She's on the sofa. Her hair's completely gray, her skin all matte, dark eyes, a cross between Jim Jarmusch and River Phoenix. She's wearing a black vest and my men's boxers. She's playing the guitar. There's one in my roommate's apartment. She plays Nick Cave and David Bowie, but a Bowie song I don't know, something about cologne and cool Canasta. I make more coffee and toast. I guess we talk a while. We go back to bed. Sex. Sometimes I think it's about desire, sometimes I think it's a reaction against something, but I don't know what. We fall asleep. The cleaning lady arrives, I hear the front door, she wants to come into my bedroom, she can see she's disturbing us, but she doesn't give a shit, we get dressed, I leave the room. The maid talks about the products I have to replace, she asks about my son, whom she doesn't know, she must realize it's complicated, or maybe someone's told her and she's talking about it just to piss me off, class revenge, she goes straight on to talk about her feet hurting, her retirement. I say to G., Let's get out of here. We go and sit in a cafe outside. Paris is empty, a little gray, it's hot. I knock my cup over, the coffee spills all over her pants. We might see each other later. We say goodbye. I leave her, she goes in the opposite direction, she turns the corner, I can't see her anymore, I start walking, then she appears again, she's come back. She says she's sad, she's scared. She's come back to tell me that. She's come back to cry, just for a moment, softly, on my shoulder. She says she's scared of the summer coming to an end. Or maybe she says she's scared of not making it to the end. Maybe she's crying because of the girl she left. Maybe it's because it's going too fast. Maybe it's something about love. She asks me if I understand. I say, Yes, no, I don't know.