20
Tired of trying to fathom the mysteries of eternity, I talk to myself about tomorrow. But once again the sphinx towers up in my dream, plying me with unspoken questions. They split the silence like flip-flop soles slapping on a marble floor. I am like a grain of sand under Time’s feet; I have given up hope of finding any answers. All I want is to get far enough away from myself, and I roam the sun-kissed desert amongst the cacti and question marks. Another dark stone sphinx looms in the distance, and I know it is no mirage, and maybe even no longer a dream.
The next day comes. Noon, albeit a sunless one. It is time to call Auntie Manya.
“What are you going to do there, in Beta’s flat?” Her question is quite reasonable.
“Talk. Maybe I’ll find out what happened to the money.”
Auntie
