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ALBUM

He asks me whether I am happy and I counter him right away: what is happiness? – and he starts to mumble, a mudlark, wagging his tongue. Happiness, man, is all your wishes coming true. Exactly! All or nothing! What are you saying, it’s not possible? Excuse me, we are not discussing possible and impossible here. And there is a simple way, known from times immemorial, for having your wishes come true – you just touch the earth’s shadow. Hey, he croaks again, how can it be done? I have found the way for me, and textbooks confirm that when there is a lunar eclipse, the earth’s shadow covers the entire moon, meaning that up there even the last of the boneheads is happy! You get it, don’t you? See you on the moon. Come on, I’ve got so many other things to do. And stop saying it’s impossible, you’re getting annoying. You asked me, I gave you an answer… Wait, I’ll trust you with one last thing – it is not certain that even on the moon all wishes materialize, but if even just one wish does, it is something, right?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

No, don’t tell me that fireflies are some harmless insects like moths or grasshoppers because there are thousands of insects, but the manual says that moths are the light at the end of the tunnel and you have probably seen them in the evening swirling around the lamps in the yard. They approach, stand still in the air for a moment and then withdraw, as if in doubt, wings fluttering, bellies twisting – which means they are excited – and if you look closer, you will see them nodding pensively, as if studying the manual. Then all of a sudden they dash forward and glue themselves to the glass lamp although aware that they will be grilled and the light will eat them for dinner. It will chew on them like it would on a munchies at a cocktail, but they have read that they are the light at the end of the tunnel and they succumb with a song, while fireflies feed on the light – it says so in the manual. They suck it dry so that they can flash in the dark and scare the hell out of crickets and praying mantises, they drink it like beer with a moth appetizer, they overeat and get fat, while at first glance it really seems like they are not there. They don’t flutter their wings or nod their heads, they only scrape bluish lines in the dark, but when they pour the next gulp of moonlight down their throats, they immediately lighten up and ask for more because gluttony is in their blood. They are born with it and they die with it, and soon they will suck the Moon dry and will go after the Sun, which has grown so thin that you can hardly see it anyway, and if the fate of the Solar system is of no interest to you, then I will see to it myself. And when you spot me circling the yard in the dark, a butterfly net in each hand, hunting, hunting flashing dots, you will understand my plea – grab the nets and lets thrash those Moon and Sun gobblers like it says in the manual, though it will come as no surprise if tomorrow this turns out to be a printing error and actually fireflies are the light at the end of the tunnel, but who cares about tomorrow anyway?