Well! Fable retold Monterroso, I finally made peace with the fate of the scribe. It's time navsegdazabyt wound, once deposited father. In this trade there is nothing terrible. When you rewrite something you liken Bouvard et Pecuchet (Flaubert's heroes), or Simon Tanner (as well as its creator Walser), or obscure officials from the "Process" Kafka.
In addition, it is the scribe - to have the honor to belong to the constellation Bartleby. This conclusion has pleased me, and I bowed my head for a few minutes immersed in the thought of a different kind. I was sitting at home, but half awake was transported to the city of Mexico City, in the very same office. Writing tables, desk, chairs, armchairs. At the back of the room window, and behind him is not so much seen as a fragment guessed Komal landscape.  A little further - the front door, standing in the doorway, and the chief gave me his hand. Only it is not clear, it is a Mexican chef or my tutoshny. Short hitch. I fix a pencil and I understand that it is time to hide behind a pillar. Column reminds me of a screen behind which Bartleby, yet carried the furniture out of the office on Wall Street, where he lived.
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