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own crime, and Torne considered himself above crime.
Though periodically this kind of vegetarianism at a banquet
of cannibals became loathsome for him. So again he took
his chronomatizer and went to roam the streets, testing the
strength of what was left of his moral imperative. He
returned each time empty handed. The world roamed in a
circle together with him, giving him no answers to his
questions.
Marta called out to him from the bedroom. He turned off
the TV in the living room and feeling his way – so as not to
burn the light unnecessarily – dragged his way to the bed.
“You know, Torney, earlier we all so loved to be absorbed
by time. All those movies, games, blogs, social networks,
trips, drinking bouts… You said to me: “Let’s go to the
movies – we’ll kill some time.” That is to say, just time was
taken away from us that we would have wasted anyway.
Why are we so unfortunate!”
“The killing of time in my mind is one of the last freedoms
left in our country. They’ve even deprived us of that
freedom.”
“But that freedom was without purpose and futile – an
absolutely meaningless experience….”
He didn’t know how to object to her in response. So he just
yawned.