Louis Proyect wrote:
> >Do long series of one-sentence paragraphs exist outside of newspapers?
>
> A Clean, Well-Lighted Place
>
> By Ernest Hemingway
>
> It was late and every one had left the cafe except an old man who sat in
> the shadow the leaves of the tree made against the electric light. In the
> day time the street was dusty, but at night the dew settled the dust and
> the old man like to sit late because he was deaf and now at night it was
> quiet and he felt the difference. The two waiters inside the cafe knew that
> the old man was a little drunk, and while he was a good client they knew
> that if he became too drunk he would leave without paying, so they kept
> watch on him.
>
> "Last week he tried to commit suicide," one waiter said.
>
> "Why?"
>
> "He was in despair."
>
> "What about?"
>
> "Nothing."
>
> "How do you know it was nothing?"
>
> "He has plenty of money."
>
> They sat together at a table that was close against the wall near the door
> of the cafe and looked at the terrace where the tables were all empty
> except where the old man sat in the shadow of the leaves of the tree that
> moved slightly in the wind. A girl and a soldier went by in the street. The
> street light shone on the brass number on his collar. The girl wore no head
> covering and hurried beside him.
>
> "The guard will pick him up," one waiter said.
>
> "What does it matter if he gets what he's after?"
>
> "He had better get off the street now. The guard will get him. They went by
> five minutes ago."
>
> The old man sitting in the shadow rapped on his saucer with his glass. The
> younger waiter went over to him.
>
> "What do you want?"
>
> The old man looked at him. "Another brandy," he said.
>
> "You'll be drunk," the waiter said. The old man looked at him. The waiter
> went away.
>
> "He'll stay all night," he said to his colleague. "I'm sleepy now. I never
> get into bed before three o'clock. He should have killed himself last week."
>
> The waiter took the brandy bottle and another saucer from the counter
> inside the cafe and marched out to the old man's table. He put down the
> saucer and poured the glass full of brandy.
>
> "You should have killed yourself last week," he said to the deaf man. The
> old man motioned with his finger. "A little more," he said. The waiter
> poured on into the glass so that the brandy slopped over and ran down the
> stem into the top saucer of the pile. "Thank you," the old man said. The
> waiter took the bottle back inside the cafe. He sat down at the table with
> his colleague again.
>
> "He's drunk now," he said.
>
> "He's drunk every night."
>
> "What did he want to kill himself for?"
>
> "How should I know."
>
> "How did he do it?"
>
> "He hung himself with a rope."
>
> "Who cut him down?"
>
> "His niece."
>
> "Why did they do it?"
>
> "Fear for his soul."
>
> "How much money has he got?"
>
> "He's got plenty."
>
> "He must be eighty years old."
>
> "Anyway I should say he was eighty."
>
> "I wish he would go home. I never get to bed before three o'clock. What
> kind of hour is that to go to bed?"
>
> "He stays up because he likes it."
>
> "He's lonely. I'm not lonely. I have a wife waiting in bed for me."
>
> "He had a wife once too."
>
> "A wife would be no good to him now."
>
> "You can't tell. He might be better with a wife."
>
> "His niece looks after him. You said she cut him down."
>
> "I know."
>
> "I wouldn't want to be that old. An old man is a nasty thing."
>
> "Not always. This old man is clean. He drinks without spilling. Even now,
> drunk. Look at him."
>
> "I don't want to look at him. I wish he would go home. He has no regard for
> those who must work."
>
> The old man looked from his glass across the square, then over at the waiters.
>
> "Another brandy," he said, pointing to his glass. The waiter who was in a
> hurry came over.
>
> "Finished," he said, speaking with that omission of syntax stupid people
> employ when talking to drunken people or foreigners. "No more tonight.
> Close now."
>
> "Another," said the old man.
>
> "No. Finished." The waiter wiped the edge of the table with a towel and
> shook his head.
>
> The old man stood up, slowly counted the saucers, took a leather coin purse
> from his pocket and paid for the drinks, leaving half a peseta tip.
>
> The waiter watched him go down the street, a very old man walking
> unsteadily but with dignity.
>
> "Why didn't you let him stay and drink?" the unhurried waiter asked. They
> were putting up the shutters. "It is not half-past two."
>
> "I want to go home to bed."
>
> "What is an hour?"
>
> "More to me than to him."
>
> "An hour is the same."
>
> "You talk like an old man yourself. He can buy a bottle and drink at home."
>
> "It's not the same."
>
> "No, it is not," agreed the waiter with a wife. He did not wish to be
> unjust. He was only in a hurry.
>
> "And you? You have no fear of going home before your usual hour?"
>
> "Are you trying to insult me?"
>
> "No, hombre, only to make a joke."
>
> "No," the waiter who was in a hurry said, rising from pulling down the
> metal shutters. "I have confidence. I am all confidence."
>
> "You have youth, confidence, and a job," the older waiter said. "You have
> everything."
>
> "And what do you lack?"
>
> "Everything but work."
>
> "You have everything I have."
>
> "No. I have never had confidence and I am not young."
>
> "Come on. Stop talking nonsense and lock up."
>
> "I am of those who like to stay late at the cafe." the older waiter said.
> "With all those who do not want to go to bed. With all those who need a
> light for the night."
>
> "I want to go home and into bed."
>
> "We are of two different kinds," the older waiter said. He was now dressed
> to go home. "It is not only a question of youth and confidence although
> those things are very beautiful. Each night I am reluctant to close up
> because there may be some one who needs the cafe."
>
> "Hombre, there are bodegas open all night long."
>
> "You do not understand. This is a clean and pleasant cafe. It is well
> lighted. The light is very good and also, now, there are shadows of the
> leaves."
>
> "Good night," said the younger waiter.
>
> "Good night," the other said. Turning off the electric light he continued
> the conversation with himself. It is the light of course but it is
> necessary that the place be clean and pleasant. You do not want music.
> Certainly you do not want music. Nor can you stand before a bar with
> dignity although that is all that is provided for these hours. What did he
> fear? It was not fear or dread. It was a nothing that he knew too well. It
> was all a nothing and a man was nothing too. It was only that and light was
> all it needed and a certain cleanness and order. Some lived in it and never
> felt it but he knew it all was nada y pues nada y nada y pues nada. Our
> nada who art in nada, nada be thy name thy kingdom nada thy will be nada in
> nada as it is in nada. Give us this nada our daily nada and nada us our
> nada as we nada our nadas and nada us not into nada but deliver us from
> nada, pues nada. Hail nothing full of nothing, nothing is with thee. He
> smiled and stood before a bar with a shining steam pressure coffee machine.
>
> "What's yours?" asked the barman.
>
> "Nada."
>
> "Otro loco mas," said the barman and turned away.
>
> "A little cup," said the waiter.
>
> The barman poured it for him.
>
> "The light is very bright and pleasant but the bar is unpolished," the
> waiter said.
>
> The barman looked at him but did not answer. It was too late at night for
> conversation.
>
> "You want another copita?" the barman asked.
>
> "No, thank you," said the waiter and went out. He disliked bars and
> bodegas. A clean, well-lighted cafe was a very different thing. Now,
> without thinking further, he would go home to his room. He would lie in the
> bed and finally, with daylight, he would go to sleep. After all, he said to
> himself, it is probably only insomnia. Many must have it.
>
> Louis Proyect
>
> (http://www.panix.com/~lnp3/marxism.html)
-- http://www.users.uswest.net/~bautiste/index.htm