August 1st, 2008

Book

Agent Nabokov

I awake early. The ghosts are back, I say to myself idly a few hours before in the darkness. It's hardly surprising. I'm heading to Tokyo later in the morning. A few days in the capital and then north. There's a dream I want to write down, or rather there's something that arises from that dream. Should I just start writing now or, as I know I would, perhaps I'd prefer to go the toilet and have a cup of coffee in my hand when I do...?

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