something quite amazing happened to me on saturday. we were walking down landstraße in linz. it was cold and it rained. fine drops and, occasionally, a snowflake or two. with every step i just wanted to be away, somewhere warm and drink a cup of tea. and then i saw something on the ground. it looked like a colored piece of paper, a postcard or something of the sort. then i realized it was a book. i looked around but saw nobody who might have lost it. i picked it up. one side of it was wet – it landed in a small puddle on the ground, the other still dry. it looked like it just happened. that puzzled me because i could not figure out whom might it belong - the street was empty. i shook it a bit and raised it with my arm stretched hoping someone would see it and rush to claim it. but nothing happened. i read its title: ficciones, by borges. in spanish. that’s impossible!, i thought. it cannot be! that’s the book i started reading on the evening of the previous day. an english translation of borges – labyrinths.