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The day before yesterday towards the middle of the
afternoon I noticed I was running out of matches.
I went through pockets, under papers on tables and
finally found a single match. Having lit a
cigarette, I decided to keep one lit constantly
whether I was smoking or not. Oppressed by this
obligation, I went downstairs to the kitchen, found
nothing, but picked up an article by the man at the
other end of the hall that happened to catch my eye.
I read it, cooked dinner, went on working, and
managed through all of this to light another
cigarette before the burning one burned out. I
determined to go to the movies in order to get some
matches. However, in the car, I found some partly
used folders of them and just went to the movies
uselessly. The next afternoon, the secretary came
in and asked for a match. I still had a few left from
those I’d found in the car. I realized the situation
was growing ticklish. I left and with the single
purpose of getting matches. I came back with an
artichoke, a sweet potato, an onion I didn’t need
(for I already had one), three limes, two
persimmons, six cans of ale, a box of cranberries
and an orange, eggs, milk, and cream, and
fortunately I remembered the matches. That evening
the possibility of lighting a cigarette on an
electric stove was mentioned, an action with which
I am fully familiar. |