The Next Chapter
Beginning in the fall, I worked in the school as a cleaner. I cleaned classrooms, halls, the office, the cafeteria, the toilets, the kitchen and the cloakroom. And I narrated the world to myself. I narrated trees, a view of the sky, a bucket with a rag, which I left near the furnace, or the smell of floor wax, which spread all throughout the building. When you narrate a world like that, write it down as a book or a symphony, it can’t disappoint you. Just like the world narrated by a prophet stops being a let-down, but as soon as you stop narrating the world and life, and begin to experience them, well then, you get disappointed straight away. Although it’s a pleasant disappointment.
Memory ceases to exist. Graves vanish and it’s finished. A person perishes, forever. And
