One hundred years of solitude By Gabriel Garcia Marquez
No one can sleep. It is the insomnia plague. The villagers’ memories begin to fail. They label things, so as to remember their names. Then they add instructions to the labels: “This is the cow. It must be milked each morning to get milk and the milk must be boiled and mixed with coffee to make milky coffee.” A sign is erected at the entrance to the village: “Macondo” - in case they forget where they live.
Is that a story of faith, atheism or superstition? I know what it tells me. What does it tell you?
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