Real slum kids with runny noses. I can hardly understand a word they say.
Yesterday afternoon, when Margot and I were taking a bath, I said,
“What if we took a fishing rod and reeled in each of those kids one by one as they walked by,
stuck them in the tub, washed and mended their clothes and then...”
“And then tomorrow they'd be just as dirty and tattered as they were before,” Margot replied.
But I'm babbling. There are also other things to look at cars, boats and the rain.
I can hear the streetcar and the children and I'm enjoying myself.
Our thoughts are subject to as little change as we are.
They're like a merry-go-round, turning from the Jews to food, from food to politics.
By the way, speaking of Jews, I saw two yesterday when I was peeking through the curtains.
I felt as though I were gazing at one of the Seven Wonders of the World.
It gave me such a funny feeling, as if I'd denounced them to the authorities and was now spying on their misfortune.
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