Corona, Corona, Corona. The polycentric world is monothematic. What else to talk about, now? Trump is not yet, but will be, history; I'm running out of topics. Lockdown? New Year's Eve bangers? Armin Laschet? The culture lies prostrate, the brains rotate empty. I begin to suspect that I'm repeating myself. Whereby: It is a re-flex, a re-action. My friend Frank, for example. He says what he says and wants, three times, four times, five times. One day I am slightly annoyed and reply: "Listen! I got you the first time, you know?