TE15 Lithuanian Honey Cake

By Remote Means

When you think about it… when you think about it, a person… what kind of thing is a person? – so thought the judge, out of powerless spite, avoiding those razor eyes – after all, everything is tattooed on this humanoid’s face (what else to call him?): deceit, fraud, and whatever else we don’t yet know and don’t want to know! The humanoid gave him a fatherly smile, like it was nothing: drama, all this drama, my son… Why overvalue the evidence? The facts? The evidence is just a trap, and facts are captivity… And why overvalue yourself? We both know what nothings we are (before eternity), both you and I. What fools we are… He even had the insolence to make a joke: “On your way home, your honor, you might want to check to see if your dough is where you left it, mmmmwwwwahahahaha!” He pushed open the metal law court doors with his bony shoulders and departed into summer – always the starveling, puny thing, thought the judge, biting his lip, enviously watching him exit into the air, yellow like melted butter. Closed up in his office, freed of his robe, having thrown it off like a limp sail, he exchanged his shoes for slippers. However, knowing all too well that he wouldn’t relax like that, he pulled out his Diplomatico Añejo from the cabinet. Upon taking a gulp, he pressed his upper lip hard: the straightest road to the brain – in the manner of that “lost generation” writer, Ernest


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