Somebody told me once that it's very simple to die: to do it you've got to breathe in forty times altogether, deep, deep, as deep as you can, and breathe out the same way, from the depths of your heart, and then you'll let go of your soul. Maybe I should try it?
Oh, hold it! Maybe I should find out what time it is. But who can I ask, if there's not a single soul in the square, not a single one? And if some living soul did come along, could you even get your mouth open with the cold and the grief? Yes. Oh the muteness of the cold and the grief!
And if I die sometime - I'm going to die very soon - I know I'll die as I am, without accepting this world, perceiving it close up and far away, inside and out, perceiving but not accepting it. I'll die and He will ask me:
'Was it good there for you? Was it bad there for you?' I will be silent with lowered eyes. I'll be silent with that muteness familiar to everyone who knows the outcome of days of hard boozing.