Soundtrack no. 2

He arrives unexpectedly, without justification. Physically he shows signs of giving up trying to appear to be something he is not: his jet-black hair is longer; no jacket and tie: he wears a black sweater and blue jeans. He knows she is alone. He goes around the house commenting on her life with detached irony, browses through the pots and pans, and sits down. He doesn't bother to explain what brought him there, there's no need. He is, as always, dissatisfied and indifferent, halfway between mystical and maniac.
She offers him an aperitif and some banal excuses, "now everything is different" etc. etc. He is big and dark, with an invasive beauty; he takes a sip of the aperitif, rests his heavy arms in the black sweater on the table, speaks in a low, calm tone of voice. "It's not a serious thing to live. If I knew how to suffer, I would suffer from the fact that others suffer from things that I don't suffer from; from time immemorial I have classified them as necessary in the perfect logic of nothingness. I act randomly, only because I can't always stay still; my actions have the only rationality of disorder". Almost without paying attention, he tells her "I had thought about killing myself, but it wouldn't be a serious matter". He gets up to leave. She stops him, invites him to lunch, she is alone until the evening. She tells him "you look good with hair like that". He looks around distractedly, laughs, "you really don't know how to pretend, little sister".
He fucks her on the table, dressed. He never kisses her on the mouth.
He likes to humiliate her. As he rebuttons his trousers, he tells her that he is with another woman, a beautiful one of course. She doesn't answer, she's sure he'll come back. 
Frozen in his own cold, without the warmth of his little whore he's dead.