Chapter 17

While being the diarist this time, he was seated in the kitchen, exactly where Calvin had stood while consuming his early morning cocktail. Jackal thought of his afternoon: concluding Giovanni’s Room, working on a poem for his collection, napping for an hour. He added all of these activities to his entry, which seemed tediously boring and unimportant. Why did he really need to know such trivial nonsense a dozen years from now? Wasn’t the diary for more intricate thoughts, comical events in his daily life, and strings of earthly bliss?