Stories
I
This café always brings me memories. It is not the smoke-filled environment, not the woman sitting alone in the corner, nor the waiter moving slowly between the tables. It is that atmosphere in which one feels fear, that fear of conversing with others, that one day the conversations, as they are told, will become reality.
I hear people say things that make me doubt their truth. For example, the fat, balding man who is sitting to one side of me and the man who limps on his left foot always tell me extraordinary things. The first man says that on many occasions, he has had strange things happen to him. One of them was when he was at home ―I must clarify that he lives alone― and he fell asleep very quickly. He was exhausted because he had worked hard all day. When the sun’s rays
