Saturday, 16 November 2013

Mr Wurzberg

Mr Wurzberg carried a satchel in which he kept a selection of half a dozen long cherished and warn out arguments which, at the very slightest of provocations, he would take out and flamboyantly recite.

It didn't matter to Mr Wurzberg what people made of his arguments or that many contradicted each other or were in some way or other logically suspect. 

What mattered to Mr Wurzberg was the ritual of the thing and the feeling that came with it; the careful unfolding and folding away of the paper, the predictable way his jaw moved, the reassuring sound of his own voice, the sudden sense of his sheer superiority to the universe, the fleeting feeling that he had outsmarted reality, had got one over on things-as-they-were, in short the oh so temporary but exquisite sense of solidity under his ridiculous feet.

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