vanessa, 22, portuguese. tv lover. interested in madame presidents with a fondness for airlocks, consulting detectives with personal valets, ex-art thiefs, dancing doctors, doctors from the whole of britain, mad men with phone boxes, etc.
I dreamed a dream in time gone by, when grades were high and fucks worth giving. I dreamed no test would make me cry, I dreamed that curves would be forgiving. Then I was young and unprepared, and A’s were made and used and wasted. There were no extensions to be begged, no nights unslept, no effort wasted. But the finals come at last, with their laughter soft as thunder, as they tear your grades apart, as they turn your dream to shame.
“She was an exquisite painter. She made her living restoring Renaissance paintings for art museums. She travelled extensively because of her work. She was…highly intelligent, optimistic about the human condition. Usually consider it a sign of stupidity but with Irene it seemed…almost convincing. She was, to me, The Woman. To me, she preclipsed and predominated the whole of her gender. The only one I ever—”