Pierre threw his bag into the corner and dropped into an armchair. It was an old but comfortable armchair, an heirloom from his grandfather. It was already a little worn out, with clear signs of use on the seating surfaces, but the armchair was very comfortable. Over time, the soft leather had taken on the shape of the parts of his body that were touching its surface. He felt cocooned and comfortable, he felt at home as soon as he sank into this armchair. The slightly faded brown of the armchair had class. It reminded him of furniture from a gentleman's club. Pierre dedicated a special purpose to this armchair; it was his reading chair. Pierre reached for the book lying on the side table next to the armchair and opened it. It was Camus' L'Étranger. He found himself in it. Pierre too felt as if society was rolling over him, as if things were expected of him that he didn't understand. After a few pages, he put the book down on his lap and thought about an incident that had happened at his university the other day. He was in the toilet when two of his fellow students entered the washroom and started chatting. Pierre recognized the two voices. He became very quiet to avoid making any noise, as he didn't want them to know that he was lingering in their presence. Only a thin wooden panel separated the two parties so that the voices were clearly recognizable. It was about him: “Have you seen Pierre today?” “Yeah, why?” “He looked kind of goofy today, so disillusioned.” “Oh, he always is, just leave him alone.” “I kind of feel sorry for him. I tried to talk to him once, but I just don't know what to talk about.” “Yeah, he's a weirdo, I can't really connect with him either.” “Do you think we should ask him if he'd like to join us on one of our trips?” Pierre widened his eyes and hoped the idea would meet with approval. “Oh, leave him alone, I'm not entirely comfortable with him anyway.” “Yeah, maybe you're right...” The two voices left the bathroom and Pierre collapsed. He was isolated. He was the stranger.