All day long he’d been noticing people writing, since early that morning. A hotel doorman, a cabdriver, a woman in a street stand, the shop cashier–everyone was scribbling away in notebooks and on scraps of paper, ticket stubs, the backs of receipts.

At first he looked on in interest, the way he always watched the people around him. He liked watching people, imagining stories about them. He found it relaxing and sometimes even elevating.

But by midday what had begun as interesting was seeming more and more like an epidemic, and it was starting to get annoying. The next time he met someone busy writing, he decided, he would ask the reason behind this massive literary outpouring.

The passerby he questioned put a finger to his lips, looked around, scrawled something on a piece of paper, shoved it at him, and rapidly scurried away. Unfortunately, the hastily scribbled sentence was completely impossible to make out.

[Przekład: Saba Litwińska]

gru 21, 2017 by