As I like to boast over and over again, I keep a good record of everything I write. Every piece in every yearbook has its own number. Of course, I may make a mistake somewhere along the way, but the probability of such a mishap is rather low with a guy like me. I am meticulous. Anyhow, the number of this particular piece is six-hundred and sixty-six. The number of the beast, no less. For some strange reason, I always feel uneasy about a piece written under this particular number. What do I share with the Antichrist, though? If anything at all, it is the love of truth. Nay, it is the fascination with the truth. Never able to forget Dostoyevsky’s sparkling wisdom, I take this fascination with a good deal of circumspection. As I write, my beloved is lying next to the fireplace, expectant. By now, she may be naked, too. Ah, the dreaded beast!

Addendum I (December 29, 2008)

By the time I rejoined her by the fireplace, my beloved was indeed naked. God almighty! But this is where my fascination with the truth mercifully ends. To hell with the Antichrist!

Addendum II (October 29, 2016)

Well, well. I just discovered that my record of everything I write was not as good as I believed. For some reason, it did not contain “Baron Polesini” (August 27, 2008), which I just extended with an addendum. When I tried to add it to the record, the piece was missing, and I had to correct the record. Alas, so much for the number of the beast! It is the previous piece about chilies that actually bears this number. As it turns out, my mistake is at least humorous. Returning to my record, it must contain quite a few errors of this kind, but none are likely to be as poignant as this one. Boo-hoo!