For the first time in years, I was among people again - spending a longer time alone among people - and it went somewhat okay. Giovanni had pressured me with all his rhetorical tricks: "Six years must be enough. It's time. You've punished yourself enough." "No one will want to see me." Norman Mailer stabbed his wife twice in front of party guests; she almost bled to death. Ten years later, he ran for mayor of New York City. "Get out there. Get to work." I shuddered. But Giovanni wouldn't give up. "It's time for the grand gesture of apology. That's the beauty of being an artist, standing up and asking for absolution. Six years! Even the people who were there back then don't remember well anymore. You can twist the story, tell it in a way that works to your advantage. Not too much, though. You want there to still be something to forgive. But for that to work, you need to look healthy, your eyes need to be sharp, as if you stand firmly in life. You need a new, unused suit, color in your face, fresh breath, and - a project!".