U, two years ago, in an all-male boarding house, drunk:
“I guess I don’t stand a chance. She is in possession of three things I’d never have: academic grades, money and faith. We are three worlds apart.”
M, not-so-distant past, on the second floor of a library, caffeinated:
“I really like films about a poor guy going after a rich girl. Somehow that mirrors what I am going through now: masculine inferiority complex based on class difference.”
—Testimonies of then-lovestruck friends that echo in my head, while I’m watching ONE HUNDRED DAYS AFTER CHILDHOOD (Sergei Solovyov, 1975)
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