Arnon Grunberg



Early Friday morning I woke up because somebody was trying to enter my apartment. To be more precise: somebody was trying to get his or her key in my lock, and he or she was apparently not willing to give up. Although it must have been clear to this person that after five minutes of fruitless trying maybe the key just didn’t fit.
Both godson and his mother were sleeping like a baby.
I decided to go to the door, not that I thought of burglars, I thought more of a clumsy assassination attempt. After last summer I’m prepared for clumsy assassination attempts.
“Hello,” I said.
I heard the voice of the woman living above me. “Excuse me,” she murmured.
Through the door I could smell an intense odor of booze.