In Tunisia, once upon a time, from the window, I was enjoying the adhan of the night prayer, and it felt as though the entire world were collapsing into the tip of the minaret. It seemed to me as if the whole globe were crumpling up, and, all crumpled as it was, being sucked inside, with me being the last one left, just to have enough time to see clearly how I would end up. Then my apartment, too, would fold up like a paper cone, and slide inside all in one piece. All the filth of the world would come to an end together, like a pulp of compressed trash. And then that trash, just as Her Majesty Science suggests, might re-explode into new, ordered trash like an immense fart, and we would all reappear, with the same whines, the same scum breathing down our necks, the same undeserving thoughts. But in the meantime, before that, what would be left? God is what remains when everything else is gone, I once heard someone say. It could have been true.