[One day, Irma Melman, a former veterinary worker for the pig farm, brought an omnibus volume of antireligious poems.]
"You ask my opinion of such kind of poetry? Well, a pigsty is the best place for reading these poems. A cesspit also fits," I shrugged answering Irma Melman's question and went to feed pigs. It didn't dawn upon me that those words decided my fate.