Public Servant

This entry is part 33 of 37 in the series Une Semaine de Bonté


Page 33 of Max Ernst’s Une Semaine de Bonté

As if all the night’s eyes had flown open at once and were trained on me—and who can say they aren’t? Given that I am suddenly unable to move, some paranoia may be justified. But those dull throbs must be my beloved’s heartbeat. That’s the cat purring at our feet. It’s all just a nightmare, not some untimely end for the head of a regime. I expect to wake up at any moment.

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