Hace tiempo que no posteaba algo endémico al blog; quería romper el hiato con un texto de Phillip K. Dick (pagina 128; The Exegesis of Phillip K. Dick; editado por Pamela Jackson & Jonathan Lethem, 2011):
Four nights before Pinky died, before we knew he had cancer -- I started to say, before he had been diagnosed as having a bruised rib -- he and Tessa and I saw a uniform pale light slowly fill the room. I thought the angel of death had come for me and I began to pray in Latin: "Tremens factos sum ego, et timio," and so forth; Tessa gritted her teeth but Pinky sat there, front feet tucked under him, and impassive. I knew there was no place to hide, like under the bed. Death can find you under the bed; everyone knows that, even little kids. And it looks bad.