One Hundred Years of Solitude

keeping them with him in the
passenger coach. The world
must be all fucked up, he said
then, when men travel first
class and literature goes as
freight. That was the last
thing he was heard to say. He
had spent a dark week on the
final preparations for the trip,
because as the hour
approached his humor was
breaking down and things
began to be misplaced, and
what he put in one place