Yasmina Reza

I lost my mother a week ago.

My mother died ten days ago.

But a guy who dies of cirrhosis of the liver at thirty-six

sleeping guy is a guy who’s dropped you.

In a way I’m closer to Ginette Anicé than I am to my husband.

I did something I hadn’t done in thirty years.

A terrible anguish gripped me. I no longer understood

I miss Denner. A man dead thirty years ago you suddenly miss.

It made me angry that he wouldn’t care about getting me out of the situation.

“What’s going to happen to my aunt without me? She has nobody else.”