Rubbish, A At least I do remember how cautiously we entered the hotel and afterwards he said to me: “Take off your shirt and let’s start recording.” And as time passed and my voice refused to come out like vomit or consumptive coughing in a handkerchief, like “it is finished” or “better I had died my boy,” we continued recording over and again, until I kept nothing of the keys and cufflinks, but instead went to sleep as I was, without a shirt, next to the microphone and the empty night table, with a pork-fat candle for a cigarette on the ship and our argument over filioque. * --------- * Filioque:“And from the Son.” The discord that caused a schism between the Eastern and the Western Church. Rubbishs, B I think everything was just a flash of images because while the two of us were in the building his head leaning back, he looked more like the fallen god of a betrayed people than a priest and I a sacked commercial traveller than a prod...