We get in the shower together.
I want to fall asleep in there. It’s always too early. I don’t know how Musette does it, waking up at five every morning. There are differences between us. Our biorhythms.
She washes my body with the new soap. It has that manly smell. A little muddy. That’s what men like. Washing their body with the mud of the earth. Grit.
She tells me that I can’t use the internet today, because of spoilers.
I mean, that’s impossible, I tell her, not using the internet while at work.
Just read a book or something.
Oh, how I wish that were possible. But I’m living in another reality show, one in which books have no place.