Cold equator

And I went in the stillness of my closed room, imagining the river, the sunflower seeds, the threshing machine, our river, our house in the country, the willow and eucalyptus trees, the deep, smiling rural eyes, the anxiety in the city, the glass, the pale faces, Gregor's mustache, and I remembered the writer himself, rushing along. I flipped through the pages, searching curiously for the scenes that took place in the village, without stopping, and its pages always shook me when they brough...