Broken by the exhausting promise of desire, the simple man has opened another wine bottle as he listens to an old jazz record: smoke and white walls, temperature rising, thoughts dancing in the hot air. The simple man is such an interesting sight to see, hands in his pockets, bare feet, torn shirt, dirty pants, books all around him, empty bottles, cigarette butts, blood stains on the floor, countless sheets of paper, artificial echoes of a natural voice, irrational thoughts turned into logical verses–such chaotic density. He dances alone with his multiple shadows, utters incompressible lines, rapes the syntax of the English language, deconstructs linguistic approximations to the concreteness of living, travels unconsciously to his destiny as he drinks yet another glass of wine. Such is the density of a simple man.
Los relatos de Maurice Sparks 