My name is Renée, I am fifty-four years old and I am the concierge at 7 rue de Grenelle, a bourgeois apartment building. I am a widow, short, ugly, plump, I have bunions on my feet and, if some self-offending mornings are to be believed, breath like a mammoth. But above all, I am so true to the image people have of concierges that it would never occur to anyone that I am more literate than all these smug rich...
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My name is Renée, I am fifty-four years old and I am the concierge at 7 rue de Grenelle, a bourgeois apartment building. I am a widow, short, ugly, plump, I have bunions on my feet and, if some self-offending mornings are to be believed, breath like a mammoth. But above all, I am so true to the image people have of concierges that it would never occur to anyone that I am more literate than all these smug rich people. My name is Paloma, I am twelve years old, I live at 7 rue de Grenelle in a rich person's apartment. But for a very long time, I have known that the final destination is the fishbowl, the emptiness and ineptitude of adult existence. How do I know that? It just so happens that I am very intelligent. Exceptionally intelligent, even. That is why I have made my decision: at the end of this school year, on my thirteenth birthday, I will commit suicide.
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