Late at night I'm lying awake reading. My girlfriend curled up close to me, sound asleep. Her slow breathing and the soft rustle of pages turning the only sounds reaching me in my little island of light. I'm through with the book, thoughts wandering in comfortable idleness. Everything seems slow, silenced, numbed in happy melancholy. The book is over, the story ended. I start wondering about the author and read the cover flap: BuschnicK is. leaving. working. having. teaching. winning. publishing. living. writing. The author's description flap reduced to the verbs. Reduction. Time is a glacier.

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