segunda-feira, 9 de maio de 2011

Innocents abroad

Esse é o título do livro do autor Mark Twain, que estou a procurar sem encontrar. De sebo em sebo, eu rondo a cidade de Melbourne. E nada; nem simpatia dos vendedores.

“How many times do I have to say that there isn’t such a book here? By the way, who is Mark Twain? What the hell has he written that you are SO interested?”


“Are you alright, mate? I am sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. But you come here every day to ask the same question.”


“Would you like to have some tea?”

“No, thanks.”

“Come on. It is not poisoned. Which one do you like?”



“Would you like some more?

“Yes, please.”

"In life sometimes we have to accept that we won’t get what we want… More tea?"


“You remind myself while I was in India. I met some local people there and I wanted to know how they found their partners. When I asked, they answered, without hesitating:


“I knew the answer but I asked.”

“So, do you have the book I am looking for?”

“You must be kidding. Please, go away.”

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