You don't have to read all this crap about love, about what it's like. You already know the sappy part. Except for one thing — and that one's more about you than me. I'm writing this garbage from the place you're afraid to end up. But you will. And when you do, they might ask you at the gate: did you read "Cesara"? Don't say yeah. Or they'll whip me with ramrods again. Madlen, my ex, gave me Dante. That bastard was right — it's a total shithole here.

Still — thanks for buying the book. The kid at your bookstore got a cut, and you helped the Ministry of Trash print this novel out of trash leftovers. Or maybe it's not a novel at all?

And don't believe in love. Don't be an idiot. I already was.