Given the extreme nature of human intrusion or wishful thinking or just sorry luck of the design or redesign of thermal patterns, how would the philosophy of eating a chicken pot pie change for a Sunday afternoon with a few friends and two who had driven three hours over North Carolina mountains to spend the time – outside the window, the snows of a two-week freeze beginning to wither into ground, and you, out of hospital now, though not fully recovered from surgery, but well on the way, trying to understand – and maybe that’s the mistake, since no one does, so why should you – where all the purpose went while you were in that other world, and if, in fact, you could get there from here – wherever that is?

Sam Rasnake
Blow-Up and Other Stories
Julio Cortázar