Taj je utorak imao osjećaj da mu je psiha frigidna, impotentna. Često je imao takav osjećaj. Samo bi tako stajao. Gledao pred sebe ili u strop dok ga je nešto jebalo. Motrio je televiziju, grickao kikiriki i nešto ga je jebalo. A nikako da svrši.
Onda je malo proučavao zid. Ništa. To nešto ga je i dalje jebalo. Bez rezultata.
Nježni autizam nazvao je to svoje stanje i nastavio jesti kikiriki. Kad su mu se usta već počela skupljati od soli, dignuo se, odjenuo, pa se Donjim Konalom zaputio do dućana po sladoled. Malo je proćakulao s uvijek ljubaznim Josom – vlasnikom dućana, a potom je krenuo nazad.
(...)

That Tuesday he had the feeling that his mind was frozen, impotent. He often had that feeling. He would just stand like that. He stared into space or at the ceiling while something screwed him. He watched TV, nibbling peanuts and something screwed him. And he could not come.
Then he studied the wall a bit. Nothing. That something still screwed him. Without result.
Gentle autism, he called this state of himself, and kept nibbling peanuts. When his lips start to pucker from the salt, he gets up, dresses and heads to the shop via Donji Konal to buy some ice-cream. He spends some time chatting with the always kind Joso, the shop-keeper, and then heads back.
(...)