دارم عددها رو جمع و تفریق می‌کنم. یه کاسه میوه‌ی خشک رو میز کنار دستمه. هرازگاهی بی‌که نگاه کنم، یکی‌شونو برمی‌دارم شروع می‌کنم به گاز زدن. همین‌جور ریزریز. سرم تو ورقامه. یه‌ گاز کوچیک. یه‌هو یه مزه‌ی گرم و عجیب. یه مزه‌ی گس، گس و داغ. یه مزه‌ای که اولین بارمه، که تا حالا نچشیدمش. میوه‌هه رو نگاه می‌کنم. یه برش طالبیه. یه برش طالبی سبز. دوباره یه گاز کوچیک. دوباره یه موج گس و داغ. این مزه‌هه عجیب داره منو درگیرِ خودش می‌کنه. به طرزِبی‌ربطی داره تهِ مغزم وصل می‌شه به یه تصویر. به یه تک-فریم. بیرونِ درِ یه آسانسور. یه آسانسورِ پیر. دری که چارتاق بازه. یه نورِ نارنجیِ تیره افتاده تو راهرو.این مزه‌ی گس و عجیب تهِ مغزم صاف وصل می‌شه به آغوشِ پشتِ اون در، خیلی مستقیم، خیلی بی‌ربط.

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