that was a lousy start, herr brekst said, in the week; you would not have such a start in, say, a novel. a novel, well, that’s something else, a novel is.
he used a big knife to spread butter on toast. union, he said, of spread and base.
sponge and breadroll said nothing. nor did block of wood.
at least we agree, herr brekst said, don’t we?
and morning and evening marked a new day and now night.