City of glass
I say what they say because I know nothing.
There was this. Dark. Very dark. As dark as very dark. They say: that was the room.
Not even a window. Poor Peter Stillman. And the boom, boom, boom, the caca piles. The pipilakes. Excuse me. Anymore.
There was mush food in the hush dark room. He ate with his hands. Excuse me. I mean Peter did.
I am Peter Stillman. That is not my real name. Thank you.
My real name is Mr Sad. What is your name, Mr Auster? Perhaps you are the real Mr Sad, and I am no one.
What did Peter do in that room? No One can say. Some say nothing.
As for me, I think that Peter could not think. Did he blink? Did he drink? Did he stink?
Ha ha ha. Excuse me. Sometimes I am so funny.