Still Life by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview
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Still Life
Page 43
"This croissant is a metaphor."
"For what?"
"For the inevitability of flakiness."
They eat slowly, not out of reverence but out of refusal to rush the moment. The hall echoes with the ghosts of curated breakfasts past. No one interrupts. No one annotates. The meal becomes a ceremony of adaptation, where nourishment is incidental and presence is the only requirement.