From Ghosts by César Aira:
She left her glass on the ground and walked over to the edge of the pool, on the bottom of which the giant paper boat was lying, forgotten now, right in the middle, on the dry cement. She walked all the way around the pool until she came to the rear of the building. From there, the sunset was visible, becoming intensely yellow and red. The sun was setting, and the year was setting. The “Year of Happiness,” as Raúl Viñas had suggested. They had drunk the sun in one gulp, and the originator of the toast had a special reason for doing so: it wasn’t just that he had spent the year drinking, or even that he was going to continue from now until midnight; the reason was that drinking allowed him to stretch time, without in any way altering its punctuality and precision. Also, by virtue of a curious linguistic habit, “New Year” was an instant twelve midnight, the minute when the sirens went off. And happiness was, precisely, an instant, not a year.