Murakarazm

W nawiązaniu do Haruki Murakamiego i marazmu listopadowego. Studiuję Kronikę Ptaka Nakręcacza i z zadziwieniem spoglądam na przedostatnią stronę, która zawiera pełen wykaz przetłumaczonych książek tegoż autora. Nie wiem czy sięgnę po wszystkie z nich, póki co zanurzam się w świecie codziennego absurdu. Niekoniecznie japońskiego.

Absurdu dnia powszechnego. Zwyczajnych, codziennych sytuacji. W sklepie, w metrze i w stołówce. W aucie promotorki, w trakcie mojego pierwszego seminarium magisterskiego. Miało być normalnie, w gabinecie, a skończyło się na konsultacjach w podejrzanie zaparkowanym aucie w jednej z uliczek odchodzących od rynku. Po 21.
W praskim mieszkaniu, kiedy sąsiad Aguilera (ponoć nawet utrzymuje więzy rodzinne z tą Aguilera) wparował do mojego pokoju z Samsonem (terier szkocki maści białej) i swoimi dwoma 'podopiecznymi' w wieku gimnazjalnym. Godzina 20, jak okiem sięgnąć ciemność rozświetlona nikłym światłem lamp ulicznych, 4 piętro, strome poddasze, a on chce się dostać przez dach do swojego mieszkania, ponieważ po raz kolejny zatrzasnął drzwi. Wysłał na misję jednego z 'podopiecznych'. O dziwo udało mu się pokonać dystans między dwoma oknami bez upadku. 2 m wszerz i jakieś 30 m w dół.
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Schronisko dla zabawek: Mr Bean Teddy Bear. Dworzec Świebodzki we Wrocławiu.
Głowę stracił samoistnie, ale już jest na miejscu.

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