“Daniel, a handsome 50-year-old whom I name the Marlboro Man because of his hyper-masculine looks and swagger, walks into my office and drops his body on the couch across from me. In a monotonous voice, his speech laced with obscenities, he announces his failure — his failure in life, in relationships with women, at work.
He sits with his legs wide apart, as if penetrable, open and passive. Yet this posture also somehow feels invasive, penetrating and even threatening to me.”
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