TO TRAVEL: Where are you going to travel when the pandemic ravages the destination? In the literature, of course. On the desolate islands of the books, you can stretch up the hammock without being infected by anything other than longing.
A while ago, a man was executed in front of the front door of my apartment. It turned into a small note in the newspaper, cleverly placed along with sales ads for pocket firearms and bulletproof windows for the car.
After the Chernobyl accident, the world became new. Suddenly, the enemy was no longer a soldier with weapons, but lay hidden in jam and cat fur that stroked his leg. We learned to fear our own things and the air we breathed in. But how do we understand an enemy we cannot see?