Oscar had taken a piss and now sat alone in

his living room sipping Starbucks and staring out the window

at the city where it lay in the evening sunlight.

He heard the muted siren of a passing police car.

The room was in disarray, as usual, and needed dusting.

This lonesome evening he thought of nothing, nothing at all.

In the end there was nothing left but obscure memories,

vague notions that might just as well have been fantasies.

Or dreams that he had dreamed and then had forgotten,

seeing them resurface in a blurred image at random moments.


Paraphrases from the novel Silence by Jan Costin Wagner.