Tell me again about your degradation. Two hovels seen as hotels. One looking the emptier. Twin sheets repressed and singular. Molar to feed the cavity. Capsuled to find the bitter flow. Sounds and speaking sharper. Longing for the slap and belt of fury. Longing for the spit without the cloud and silver on the road. Stepping, stepping. Reaching for repulsion, for revulsion without closing. Nowhere, nowhere. Screaming out of turn. No breathing. Tick and tick and tick and tick. How great is the burning sun? How close are the closing fists? Not near. Not far.

Author: Albert Camus
Title: The Fall
Publisher: Penguin