Free Bye Bye Blondie by Virginie Despentes

looking for a trigger for tantrums, she’d come to exactly the right place.
    She clenched her fists without answering, she found this boy a bit of a jerk anyway. Hewas tearing his bread into little pieces, which he then ate like a sparrow, in tiny bites, chewing them very slowly. He was almost as tall as she was, but very fragile looking, with curly hair, sharp features. His gray eyes darted around the canteen, with real cruelty perceptible in them. He stooped slightly, giving an impression of intelligence and vivacity, but it made you feel uneasy. He stayed looking thoughtful for a while, visibly not distressed to be in this place, then he remarked, “I never get in a rage like that. I’d really like it to happen to me.”
    His voice was high-pitched, but pleasant.
    â€œOh come on, man, you don’t even know your own name. But you know that you never get in a rage?”
    â€œYes, yes! I know, weird isn’t it, the brain, I haven’t stopped thinking about that since yesterday. It surprises me too, it really surprises me, I’ve forgotten my name, my address, my work, my friends, but what I am, myself, that seems to have stayed clear. Well, at least I can ask myself the question, that’s something.”
    He was very calm, making out like some character in a dream, expressing himself slowly, as if it were painful to be waking up completely. She thought it must be the meds they were giving him, making him high, getting special treatment. But as she discovered later, he was always like that: in his own world, with occasional blazing outbursts. He looked at her over the coffee bowl he was holding in both hands.
    â€œApart from Motörhead, what do you listen to?”
    â€œMotörhead.”
    â€œOh, she has a sense of humor, I see.”
    â€œDon’t you like Motörhead?”
    â€œFrankly, if I didn’t like them, I certainly wouldn’t tell you. I don’t want to get beaten up . . .”
    This started him off laughing, she was already getting used to him. He had a slight coughing fit afterward and put his hand in front of his mouth, his hands were precise and delicate. White with long, thin fingers. He was refined without being feminine. Extraordinary to discover among all these crazy people in gowns, a rich kid who had remained a rich kid. She was about to get up and ask him to leave her alone, once and for all. Then he added, “I prefer the Stooges, New York Dolls, Generation X, that kind of music. Not as powerful as Lemmy but more twisted, I think, I prefer it.”
    She stayed sitting down. She would have been unable to identify any of the bands he mentioned if she had heard them. But she recognized all the names, the list operated as a good password, nothing but quality stuff, old guys.
    â€œSo you remember the music you used to listen to as well?”
    â€œAre you working for them, or what?”
    His smile showed his front teeth, his canines slightly too long and pointed, gave him something of a vampire look, which Gloria found suited him.
    She was watching out for one of the servers who was in charge of refilling coffee cups. When she turned her head back, he was devouring her with his eyes. Remaining a little reticent, she was nevertheless becoming intrigued. You could sense at once that he wasn’t really calm and peaceful, contrary to his apparent attitude. First of all, he wasn’t at all upset or angry at finding himself among the insane. He was taking it too well for it to be genuine.
    Gloria started talking again. “But you don’t just listen to punk music, do you?”
    â€œI listen to everything really. It’s my thing. I like it all, jazz, rock, hard rock . . .”
    This was the 1980s, people who listened to a bit of everything didn’t really listen to anything much. She insisted: “Okay, okay, it’s fine to be open-minded and educated, but what bands?”
    â€œPolnareff.”
    â€œOh, so