The stranger is sprawled on the bed. Passing through loveless scenes (smooth bodies, sadomasochistic toys, pills and grimaces of the
unemployed) you get to the point you call autumn and discover the stranger.
In the bedroom, in addition to the reflection that sucks up everything, you notice stones, yellow reefs, sand, hair on pillows, abandoned
pajamas. Then it all disappears.
Roberto Bolaño
Translation from Laura Healy