He was a man who did not suffer but pleasured in sleepless nights of brooding on the greatclock of the universe running down or winding itself up, who could tell? But many nights, listening, he decided first one way and then the other...
— You wouldn't do like him, a "Lonely woman" banner.
— I mean my insomnia.
— It's not connected? Would you care about moose if you had a man in your bed?
This is how it is with insomnia. Everything is so far away, a copy of a copy of a copy. The insomnia distance of everything, you can't touch anything and nothing can touch you.