Happy Birthday
By Happy 107th, Jorge.
My favorite Borges is The South.
They went outside, and while there was no hope in Dahlmann, there was no fear, either. As he crossed the threshold, he felt that on that first night in the sanatorium, when they’d stuck that needle in him, dying in a knife fight under the open sky, grappling with his adversary, would have been a liberation, a joy, and a fiesta. He sensed that had he been able to choose or drean his death that night, this is the death he would have dreamed or chosen.