Endless comedy THE waiter came, took my plate,

THE waiter came, took my plate, stopped to brush a few crumbs off my tablecloth, and hurried to another table. I was seized with regret about this day, not only because it had been futile, but because not even its futility would remain, it would be forgotten along with this table, along with the fly buzzing around my head, along with the yellow pollen scattered on the tablecloth by the flowering linden, along with the slow, indifferent service that is so characteristic of the society I live

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