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He had learned once of a French phrase for twilight: entre chien et loup, between the dog and the wolf, meaning that time of day when it’s impossible to tell these two animals – one benign and the other wild – apart.
Nyquist felt embarrassed. “I thought you were somebody else.” “I am,” the stranger said, “every time I visit here.”
He looked like a man who had seen a ghost, and found the ghost to be himself.
It was useless. This place did not lead to calmness.
He would kick the future in the teeth, he would break the future in two.
Into the dusk I have wandered, in the pale fog I have fallen and become lost, both lost and found.
