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pause and inspect them when walking past him in the street had run out, since the fruitlessness and pointless-ness of this pursuit he only now realised, since, since, since… which database, which Google would contain it, which NSA would intercept it, which Wikileaks and which Snowden would leak it?

But even if they did, why should Alexandratou asso-ciate what they contained, intercepted or leaked with what had only been recorded on the hard drive of his computer (which would be near impossible to get her hands on, but even if she did, only the anti-terrorism unit would unlock it, good luck then) regarding the day, the time, the minute, the second when on his yet blank screen appeared the first letter of his work? Or even if she did make this association, why would it be considered a cause-and-effect relation and not simply a before-and-after one?

He must have been sitting for over an hour on the toi-let seat, his legs, surprise surprise, now numb from not moving, when he reached the last phrase:

However, Alexandratou was not as lucky as Galileo’s biographer who, by unearthing the purchase invoices for concave mirrors from a Venetian glazier, proved that it was him that invented the first telescope in 1609.

Simos Panopoulos - Look at that

207

Because if she was, then she would have ascertained the haste with which, much later on, the double bed was ordered, or the youthfully coloured cotton sheets, the modern underwear were procured, how his entire wardrobe was generally revitalized, as well as the fur-nishing of his bachelor pad, all of this obviously with the help of an increasingly robust bank account. Pre-dictable, since the publicity and the self-confidence that he had conquered and acquired respectively, pos-sibly acted, if not as a powerful aphrodisiac, at least as an allure? Inevitable, because out of all of his fe-male readers who, following his coming out, came to his Facebook profile, it was not hard to imagine that some would have infiltrated, not necessarily his bed but, in one manner or another, his life? Indispens-able, because there must have been, time and again, someone with whom he shared, OK, perhaps not his nights but, at worst, some of his private moments? Unfair, if it was from where he drew his material for a collection of short stories – each one with a female name for a title –, a collection which was eventual-ly published, causing an outcry? Fair, if by material we mean nothing more than a mood, an atmosphere, random conversations, occasional grimaces, the odd shivers perhaps, the sound of someone’s laughter, a moan, a silence?

- Are you, no more no less, claiming, in other words, that famous people attract women who would otherwise never so much as turn around to look

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