By Howard Curtis, Dominique Fabre
Dominique Fabre, born in Paris and a lifelong resident of the town, exposes the shadowy, nameless lives of many that inhabit the French capital. during this quiet, subdued story, a middle-aged place of work employee, divorced and alienated from his purely son, meets up with adolescence pals who're equally adrift, with out passions or clients. He's trying to find a moment act to his mournful lifestyles, looking the harbor of affection and a real reference to his son. Set in palpably actual Paris streets that believe miles clear of the town of sunshine, men Like Me is a stirring novel of remorse and shortage, but no longer with out a glimmer of desire.
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Additional info for Guys Like Me
Among all those people going in and out of the metro, there had to be quite a few guys like me, just as there were among the people I met at work. We had to have a stroke of luck, another woman, someone to cling to ... I took the metro to go home, I felt like calling her. I’d been rough, but she hadn’t seemed all that surprised. I thought of calling Benjamin instead, but I didn’t want to bother him too much. He’d always liked repairing things. When he was small he’d have liked to repair his parents’ divorce, he’d never be able to repair everything, obviously.
They were becoming more and more visible, more and more apparent as a couple. I hadn’t talked with her very much, but we hadn’t been distant either. I kept talking about the scooter, they looked at each other two or three times, wondering what’s gotten into him? Benjamin was trying to keep a straight face. By the way, he had a job offer from a big lab in Zurich, it was well paid, much more than he could make here. Anaïs was quite pleased, although it wasn’t convenient for her. I listened without saying anything.
I went for a walk around the old places, I saw the little park where Benjamin took his first steps. Square Max de Nansouty, it’s called. There were young parents and children with snotty noses. Smiles and black, green, blue eyes. I saw the windows of our old two-room apartment, and to my surprise I didn’t feel anything. Was that my first act, that period? At least I no longer resented my ex-wife. Now she was only the mother of my son, she’d stopped being the woman who’d done everything to deprive me of him and to screw me out of everything she could get from me.