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248 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1982
Nowhere to go. Parents aren’t waiting — there are none. Friends aren’t waiting — there are none. The lover isn’t waiting — he or she doesn’t exist. The work isn’t waiting — there’s none — it’s merged with me. Drinking buddies aren’t waiting — I quit drinking. It stinks. Why get up at all?
Day before yesterday, I stabbed my wife. She got off cheap, though.
I have a mysterious relationship with this woman. It appears simple at first glance — she left me a year ago. But what can a crowd really know about her and me?
Some things exist invisible to the eye.
One of us is a victim, one of us is a torturer. From time to time, we switch the roles. Even the most intelligent won’t be able to make anything out of this. Only the devil can make sense of it. He’s the one who made this mess in the first place.
At my age — always observing — I know everything about people. They’re very funny. Some dance, others sing. Many get drunk or blow smoke. A man, staid and quiet throughout the evening, suddenly leaps up and performs a savage, unconscious dance.
I know it all. It’s boring. This guy is old, this one’s getting old. That one’s getting ready to get old.