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Earlier this summer I sat in a coach with very beautiful Substack writer Leonie B Predic, on our way back from Paris. Little did I know that I was sharing a bus with the nastiest, wickedest, most nefarious person alive. I do not mean very beautiful Substack writer Leonie B Predic. I mean the man sat adjacent to us, two seats from us to the right. As soon as we boarded we noticed that this man—English, bald, likely divorced—was arguing with a Parisian woman in the seat in front of him. He had his knees up, quite visibly, against the back of her chair. She asked him to lower his knees, because she wanted to lean her seat back. Instead of saying no, please don’t lean your seat back, I will die, he flatly denied that his knees were up, lying to her face through his knees. Every half an hour or so the woman tried to surprise-attack the divorced man, ramming her back into her chair, hoping for a moment of weakness. There was no moment of weakness. The divorced man’s thighs were too strong, a

Earlier this summer I sat in a coach with very beautiful Substack writer Leonie B Predic, on our way back from Paris. Little did I know that I was sharing a bus with the nastiest, wickedest, most nefarious person alive. I do not mean very beautiful Substack writer Leonie B Predic. I mean the man sat adjacent to us, two seats from us to the right. As soon as we boarded we noticed that this man—English, bald, likely divorced—was arguing with a Parisian woman in the seat in front of him. He had his knees up, quite visibly, against the back of her chair. She asked him to lower his knees,…

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