Sitting on the bed with my head in my hands (always these extreme postures), I told myself that the people were not afraid of the rain; some, coming out of the hairdresser’s, might want to avoid it, but no one was actually afraid it would never stop, would become a continuous downpour obliterating everything – annihilating everything. It was I who, standing in front of my window and misled by the dread inspired in me by the movements taking place before my eyes – rain, moving humans and automobiles – had suddenly felt afraid of the bad weather, when what had really terrified me, once again, was the passing of time itself.
— Toussaint, The Bathroom (tr. N. Amphoux and P. de Angelis)
Notes from a Room 