Last Wednesday, I had lunch with Haruki Murakami's The Elephant Vanishes, then went to bed with Chuck Palahniuk's Snuff. When I woke up the next day, I felt like walking around with Dante's Inferno. My non-existent bank account is complaining, though. Apparently, my new friends aren't cheap.
Nevertheless, Murakami's story on how a couple robbed a McDonald's store in the middle of the night kept me entertained enough to finish the pizza I ordered, which in my opinion, had too much tomatoes. Snuff kept me wondering how far I could stretch the limits of my image, as walking around reading a book that looks like pornographic material is quite challenging. Dante Alighieri hasn't gone out with me yet, though I must say Allen Mandelbaun's translation looks promising.
I wish I have a portable reader. I'm still pondering on getting an iPod touch. There goes some advanced capitalism.
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