“Jessy…  she was a singer of indescribable beauty. But as they say of these club stars, ‘her clothes are plenty, but her belly is empty.’ Although she was grazing shiny posters and in the spotlight on stage—all sparkly and glowing—she had nothing in her soul, not a dime, just debts. She was always irritable, harried, seeing herself as the next Janis Joplin or Nina Simone. She liked to be called Jazzy. We started arguing from day one, well, from the first night we fucked. But after yet another quarrel, she always called me, asked for forgiveness, said that I am the only one who understands her.

“I don’t know myself how it happened, but very quickly I lost my mind and dived into the abyss head first, as they say. Almost every night I went to the club where Jessy sang, littering money, constantly meddling in some loud, drunken companies. This new life was foreign to me, but I confess that I loved it. It’s the same damn thing whether at home or at work. And there, in the night club, there is music, hot lobsters with cold ale, and half-naked Jazzy with a microphone.”

Antonio fell silent for a moment, staring out the window, where the lanterns illuminated a row of short pine trees near the garage. Experience suggested to him that all the exemplary family men, who were present in this room, would give a lot to find themselves for a moment in that night club, first with a glass of cold ale and then in the embrace of the hot Jessica.

“But eventually everything must come to an end,” the narrator continued. “The police arrested me on my way driving to Jazzy, having just bought cocaine from a drug dealer. Yes, yes, I’ve even stooped that low. The cops dragged me out of the car and started to search me. Right away, a usual crowd of onlookers gathered around, all trying to take pictures of me with their cameras, assuming they’re witnessing the arrest of a famous Mafioso, the new Al Capone. As it turned out later, they had detained me by mistake. The police were hunting for a dangerous criminal, who, judging by the sketch, I resembled. In short, I stood in the middle of the road with my hands up, not far from Gracie Square, being thoroughly groped and probed down to my very socks. They’re screaming, pointing guns. Undercover cops are rummaging through my car, ransacking it and looking for something.