record of a night too brief – hiromi kawakami
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What was that itch on my back? I wondered. And then I realized that it was the night—the night was nibbling into me. It wasn’t that late, still only twilight, but the darkness seemed to have collected just above my shoulders. A black clump of it had fastened onto me, eating away at my back.
[…]
The itchiness became unbearable. I scratched frantically. The more I scratched, the more the darkness ate into my back, and the more the darkness ate into my back, the more I itched.
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o carte la care ma intorc din cand in cand pentru a reciti fragmentele preferate care imi amintesc cumva de Boris Vian, si mi-l aduc mai aproape.
Impresie. Albastru inefabil... 