Ogni mattina in Africa, quando sorge il sole, una gazzella si sveglia, si accorge che il leone sta inseguendo una gazzella che non è lei, e ridacchia, la stronza.
Ogni mattina in Africa, quando sorge il sole, mentre rincorre la seconda gazzella il leone si accorge che la gazzella stronza ridacchia, e pensa: te, te ti brinco domani.
Ma poi, la mattina dopo, quando sorge il sole, non se lo ricorda più.
Well, we had all these children out planting trees, see, because we figured that… that was part of their education, to see how, you know, the root systems… and also the sense of responsibility, taking care of things, being individually responsible. You know what I mean. And the trees all died. They were orange trees. I don’t know why they died, they just died. Something wrong with the soil possibly or maybe the stuff we got from the nursery wasn’t the best. We complained about it. So we’ve got thirty kids there, each kid had his or her own little tree to plant and we’ve got these thirty dead trees. All these kids looking at these little brown sticks, it was depressing. It wouldn’t have been so bad except that just a couple of weeks before the thing with the trees, the snakes all died. But I think that the snakes—well, the reason that the snakes kicked off was that… you remember, the boiler was shut off for four days because of the strike, and that was explicable. It was something you could explain to the kids because of the strike. I mean, none of their parents would let them cross the picket line and they knew there was a strike going on and what it meant. So when things got started up again and we found the snakes they weren’t too disturbed.
Donald Barthelme, The school; il racconto completo qui.