Shokhin, Or How to Overthink it in Style

We meet our friend, but almost never his girlfriend. She’s at home, she’s with her friends, she’s too tired. Bollocks.

There’s a new era of kept women, not necessarily (or always) provided for financially, but certainly those who need a man about the house, a scruffy beard to bury a face in at night, even companionship – as much as that feels like being in a hospice. And it’s a private sort of affair – mostly under the covers of darkness, mostly just the two of them.

The men I know who comply with this sort of arrangement, and I am acquainted with a small handful, are good guys. They’re note terribly treacherous but they’re not heading in a particularly great direction either, perhaps making it better that you leave your wagon unhitched.

I’m acutely aware of how that feels like an open wound, so when we saw him a few days ago, we didn’t ask him where she was.