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In
the morning the old man stayed in the
picture at nine oclock, the foto album
rang, the man rose and got up, standing
on the cupboard, took his clothes out of
the newspaper, so that he wouldnt get
cold, he dressed,
looked into the chair on
the wall, sat down on the alarm clock at
the carpet, browsed through the mirror,
until he found the table of his mother. —
Peter Bichsel, 'A table is a table'
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