antīquē

《なんかみんな洗脳されてるよ。》___

23:36 “It had never been too well-established how they had met. The landlady of the bachelors’ boardinghouse where Bayardo San Roman lived told of how he’d been napping in a rocking chair in the parlor toward the end of September, when Angela Vicario and her mother crossed the square carrying two baskets of artificial flowers. Bayardo San Roman half-awoke, saw the two women dressed in the unforgiving black worn by the only living creatures in the morass of two o’clock in the afternoon, and asked who the young one was. The landlady answered him that she was the youngest daughter of the woman with her and that her name was Angela Vicario. Bayardo San Roman followed them with his look to the other side of the square.
“She’s well-named,” he said.
Then he rested his head on the back of the rocker and closed his eyes again.
“When I wake up,” he said, “remind me that I’m going to marry her.”
Gabriel García Márquez, Chronicle of a Death Foretold