Overheard from a conversation I was in
“…well, I like some Italian authors.”
“Ah, so you've read Calvino then?”
“One rides an old train in Prague on the afternoon it breaks down or, better, derails. No one is killed. Instead passengers are forced to emerge from odd angles, climb strangers to get to their feet. Out windows and Caligari doorways well dressed zombies wander to the nearest platform. They look en masse at schedules, clouds, chairs, adverts as if for the first time. One reaches for her old life in a coffee. Another thanks her god there was no fire. Still another, dazed, damns the world for being late for an affair started for all the right reasons.
One does all of these things and more, but one does not read Calvino.”
“Ah, so you've read Calvino then?”
“One rides an old train in Prague on the afternoon it breaks down or, better, derails. No one is killed. Instead passengers are forced to emerge from odd angles, climb strangers to get to their feet. Out windows and Caligari doorways well dressed zombies wander to the nearest platform. They look en masse at schedules, clouds, chairs, adverts as if for the first time. One reaches for her old life in a coffee. Another thanks her god there was no fire. Still another, dazed, damns the world for being late for an affair started for all the right reasons.
One does all of these things and more, but one does not read Calvino.”