When he closed the library, Ebby felt it was a good day. He had finally managed to open and rereads the last pages of Adeline Fabews’s journals, where she attempted to describe her feelings when thinking of her last short story. It was the most inspiring book she had ever written, a dynamic and high-voltage climax of details set within the frame of a big picture about which we could only make suppositions. Her questions touched close intimacy as long as you were allowing yourself to question everything you know.
Ebby was in such an overwhelmed state when he looked at the clock; it was 9 p.m. – Emile had probably been waiting for him for an hour. He closed the window and locked the library doors in a strange and furious hurry: he felt so aroused by inspiration he now wanted Emile so bad, so he texted some dirty words. It was inappropriate, but Ebby needed to be silly for a while. Sex was good now with Emile; and it was Emile who understood Ebby perfectly.