Per Marc Waudby
They walked slowly. The tallest one was a solemn, well-dressed man, with a grey beard and ruddy cheeks; the other one, skinny and unshaven, looked as if he was recovering from an illness. They were absorbed in conversation and the tall one stopped from time to time, stroking his beard as though mulling over hiswords.
-There isn't time to do everything in life. To laugh, to cry, have fun and get bored... and at the time of birth you have to prepare to die. Tiny babies can already smell it, that's why they feel like crying.
-What can they smell?
-The smell of death everywhere... But later on, you get used to it...
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