I dreamed of creating a newspaper. The scene was the following: around a table, my team, very excited, started to discuss the editorial line of the periodical, when the spirits were exalted. We would fight the injustices of the world: of course, of course! And representativeness would be a must! Of whom, where? This is what the cries were trying to express. Everyone shouted their own opinion. I was silent, afraid to say what I thought—but I thought: “Oh, magnificent nonsense!”; and, obviously, to say it would be my ruin, since some opinions are socially forbidden…—Then, in the middle of the verbal war, when everything seemed irresolvable, they asked me for the word of the owner of the newspaper. Suddenly, having to express in a few words my opinion about which class was the most wronged of all times, about which guidelines I thought most noble for the newspaper, and taking care not to offend the team that I needed motivated, I answered: “Let’s do the following. All the guidelines are very important”—and I led them all to a crematorium. I asked for an interview with the oven operator; I asked him: “Explain to us, friend, what your work consists of”. Of course, my newspaper never published the first edition.
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