FIVE Paul Saison was hungover. It wasn’t just the wine he’d consumed the night before that caused the pain in his head and the bile in his throat. The donnybrook with Angelique hadn’t helped. The French-Canadian engineer and his live-in girlfriend of the past two years often fought, but last night’s fray was particularly nasty. She’d called him a vile, smelly drunk. He countered with, ‘You sit on your fat ass all day and do nothing, nothing! Vieille mégére!’ Being called a vinegary hag really set her off. ‘Gorille!’ she screamed, throwing a wine glass at him as she left their apartment, the door slamming so hard the wall shook. She eventually returned and chose to sleep on the couch rather than curl up next to Saison’s hefty, hairy body, and stayed there until he left for work. At Power-Can the next morning he went through the motions of monitoring the plant’s electric output on banks of computers. At noon, he informed his supervisor that he had personal matters to attend to and would be late returning from lunch.
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