The Yogi
So I told you, I separated from my ex boyfriend, I went to rent an apartment, a bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, whatever I need. I could no longer go back to live with my parents, I am slim, have a good body, I can't explain why I don't have a boyfriend, so here I am at thirty-five with a rented mini-apartment, recently separated and in debt with my credit card. I was feeling depressed. They recommended me to go to yoga. The instructor was a sixty-year-old Hindu, he spoke terrible English, with a skeletal body. He always wore a tunic, filthy sandals, and in his hand, which he surely never washed, he carried sesame seeds and dried plums. There I met a friend. She had a body full of tattoos and I don't think she ever washed her hair. For some reason she inspired confidence in me, I told her that I felt very depressed and alone, she told me to go live with her and other girls in the Commune, which was an old house where there were eight women, an...