One Hundred Years of Solitude

bearings there so as not to
mistake the bed. He found it.
He bumped against the ropes
of the hammocks, which were
lower than he had suspected,
and a man who had been
snoring until then turned in
his sleep and said in a kind of
delusion, It was Wednesday.
When he pushed open the
bedroom door, he could not
prevent it from scraping
against the uneven floor.
Suddenly, in the absolute