Rangements of private stories/fantasies.
* The first time, they had to fuck each other's brains out. Now, they were discussing Wittgenstein's late work. Somehow, they felt more intimate this way.
* He met her on the street, in Paris. It was spring. She was fifteen and drunk. She came to him and asked: "Do you believe in nothingness?". Puzzled, he took her to his place. He made coffee, which she didn't drink. He enjoyed her conversation and her fragile, naive companionship for a couple of weeks. Then he decided to write a novel.
* A tall Asian, presumably Korean, or perhaps Mongolian, woman. She sat in front of him in the New York underground. And closed her eyes. When she opened them, she stared at him and he could see they were bloodshot. She reminded him of a beautiful photographer he had met years ago. Maybe it was the same person. They nodded and he got off the train at Union Square.
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