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A whore can even see herself as a grandmother. With her little grandson on a high chair eating home made semolina (better it should be a boy. Girls, nowadays...) and a healthy family living off honest work. Incredibly moved by the civilian tragedy (in the opposite sense to the military) of detachment from the things of this world. From one’s nearest and dearest, from the rule-breaking nights in front of the TV, half asleep, her mouth half open, her eyes half closed, ready to hear the labored breath of the tiny creature. Because children, children must have a good time (a healthy good time, of course) and the husband...the husband? No, no more husband. Widow is better. A widow, and dressed in black.
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