Once again, the third of September…
An office. A desk. Women’s legs, breasts, moans, cries, Makar’s growling, the vulgarity with which he accompanies his actions.
In the restaurant, a coffin-like silence.
The guests are shocked, and so am I—my husband too. He stares at the screen with his mouth open, as if he’s never seen himself from the outside.
Not as beautiful as you wanted, is it?
Well.
Divorce is even less beautiful. But you have no choice, darling. Because I’ll have a workplace romance with your lawyer.
I’ll turn over the calendar.