When I get bigger, big enough to go somewhere by myself, I want to go to a land that’s far away. I want to go to a faraway island. I want to go to an island that has no people. I want to go to an island that has no pain or sadness. On that island, I can climb a tree when I want to climb, swim in the sea when I want to swim, and sleep when I want to sleep. When I think about the town without me, I feel a sense of relief.
Now the whole world stands on the brink staring down into bloody hell. All those liberals and intellectuals...and smooth talkers...and all of a sudden, nobody can think of anything to say. Beneath me, this awful city. It screams like an abattoir full of retarded children and the night reeks of fornication and bad consciences.
There were a million small towns like this all over the world. Each as dark, as lonely, each as removed, as full of shuddering and wonder.
Any town, New York, Chicago, with its people, becomes improbable with distance. Just as I am improbable here, in Illinois, in a small town by a ' quiet lake. All of us improbable to one another because we are not present to one another. And it is so good to hear the sounds, and know that Mexico City is still there and the people moving and living...
— Inspector, I responded to your invitation because I want us to understand each other. I'm a businessman. I want to make my business successful.
— And I want my city run peacefully.
— Well, if the city is peaceful, business can thrive.
— So we're on the same side.
— I think perhaps we could be.