A knock on the door. At this hour. Who could that be. Full moon peeks in through the attic window. The plant recites Kierkegaard. Red light ceiling. A muted comedian. More insistent knocking on the door. Get up from the chair. The bottle falls down. Shock-relief: It’s empty. Ear to the door. Someone goes down the stairs, fast. An empty milk carton on the doormat. Apparently empty. A cassette tape wrapped in a piece of paper. It’s a letter. Dai Coelacanth is back from somewhere. But from where? And who…
Dai Coelacanth – A French Corpse is a delicacy on Mars
