cut off a leg to a spider, put it in an envelope, write the Minister of Foreign Affairs, add the address to jump down the stairs, dispatch the letter in the mail from the corner.
occupation
What a wonderful walk along the boulevard Arago counting trees, and every five brown stop for a moment on one foot and hoping that someone saw, and then release a cry dry and brief, and spin like a top, with open arms, identical to the bird cakuy that hurts trees northern Argentina. What a wonderful occupation
go into a cafe and ask for sugar, again, sugar, sugar three or four times, and go in a heap in the center of the table as anger grows over the counter and under the white aprons, and exactly in the middle of the pile of spit sugar gently, and continue down the small glacier on the saliva, the sound of broken stones and accompanying rises in the throat against five parishioners and the patron, honest man to your hours. What a wonderful occupation
take the bus, get off in front of the Ministry, his way with blows of stamped envelopes, leaving behind the last secretary and entering, strong and serious, in the great office of mirrors, at exactly the time when an usher dressed in blue delivered to the Minister a letter, and view open the envelope with a folder of historical origin, stick two fingers and remove sensitive spider leg, stared, and then imitate the buzzing of a fly and see how the pale minister, wants to pull the leg but can not, is trapped by the leg, and turn your back and out, whistling, posting in the corridors the resignation of the Minister, and know that tomorrow will come the enemy troops and everything will go to hell and will be a Thursday of odd month in a leap year. Julio Cortázar
, Stories Cronopios and Famas, 1962
Incidentally, download SNACKS FOR bullshit vol. 1.
