"You must do what you shouldn't," he tells me. I then go to a Cuban shaman, whom I can feel delving into my soul. I consult three different psychiatrists and reject them all because I am certain they don't have the spiritual depth to help me. He thoughtfully suggests that may not be such a good idea but sells me the required quantity anyway. "I would like to buy 30 grams of cocaine to plant on my lover's wife," I tell him. I drive to a down-at-heel area by the lake and accost a young man.
I cannot get the image of Jacob's wife out of mind. We have a nice walk, followed by vigorous sex, yet still I feel depressed. My husband suggests we travel to Nyon (population 19,170), a small town 25km to the northeast of Geneva (population 194,548), to rekindle our marriage.
Together you are love." But I am not sure I am yet ready to listen to this. "Dear God, of whom I know little but in whom I trust in times of affliction," I say to myself, "is this happening by chance?" The calm, soothing voice of a Brazilian guru whispers in my ear: "You are night and you are day. I write up my interview, which is syndicated to every newspaper in Europe, before driving home. "Have you considered marriage counselling?" he says.
Wordlessly, I unzip his flies and take his penis in my mouth. "I have some very interesting plans for Geneva (population 194, 548), which is in Switzerland," he says. Today I am going out to interview a prominent politician called Jacob whom I once kissed when I was 15, though I doubt he remembers.
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