Not ourselves

All our problems boil down to the fact that we’re not ourselves, I tell X. Least of all in the everyday, I say, least of all in everyday life. We chat, we arrange things, we even laugh, solid men to all outward appearances. In the evenings we sometimes go out, we raise glasses to our lips, we hit false notes all night. We’re like some bad performance piece, I say, like a demented double act.

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