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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. |