Arnon Grunberg

Around 13:00


My friend Redbad introduced me to a small Italian restaurant, which he claimed was run by Sicilian mafia.
Sicilian mafia or not the spaghetti aglio e olio was terrific, so I kept coming back.
Around 13:00 I leave my hotel, buy yesterday’s Herald Tribune and walk to my Italian restaurant for a plate of spaghetti aglio e olio.
I don’t think I would ever want to live in Wroclaw, although I’m very glad that I decided to accept the invitation to write a play for the theatre in this city, but I have to admit that the cheap spaghetti aglio e olio in this small restaurant is slightly better than the expensive one served at my favorite Italian restaurant in New York. This is I’m afraid ironic.
Out of sheer melancholy I decided to gamble on the stock market again.