"synopsis" may belong to another edition of this title.
All the time, since I didn't know when, I'd been surrounded by this whitish curving.
The fragment of glass with the blood on its edge, as it soaked up the dawn air, was almost transparent.
It was a boundless blue, almost transparent. I stood up, and as I walked toward my own apartment, I thought, I want to become like this glass. And then I want to reflect this smooth white curving myself. I want to show other people these splendid curves reflected in me.
The edge of the sky blurred with light, and the fragment of glass soon clouded over. When I heard the songs of birds, there was nothing reflected in the glass, nothing at all.
Beside the poplar in front of the apartment lay the pineapple I'd thrown out yesterday. From its moist cut end there still drifted the same smell.
I crouched down on the ground and waited for the birds.
If the birds dance down and the warm light reaches here, I guess my long shadow will stretch over the gray birds and the pineapple and cover them.
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