We met under the foothills of Tâmpa. He set me up with a mattress in a parsonage, cheap, near beer, asphalt and the road to Poiana. We fell in love. For ten eggs a month, through the Revolution, through the parks, hungry. He knew I'd leave one day. One evening, he leaned me against his wall and pointed with a finger like a
pale-lit Corso, the silhouette of our memories walled in concerts from the Black Church. Opposite, at La Varice, the same tall old man in a long shabby coat was playing an accordion, a waltz. It was snowing. And I left.
(Translated by Otilia Mocanu / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year II / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)Real Fiction is a collective project started in 2013 by Florin Piersic Jr. The concept of Real Fiction continued to exist as a Facebook group, after a volume of stories was published at Humanitas Publishing House. (In February 2022, the group has 7,950 members.) The authors write ultra-short stories, with the texts limited to 500 characters (in Romanian, so the length of the English translation might be a little different) - a flash-fiction exercise on a topic that changes every few days. The group's coordinators are Florin Piersic Jr., Gabriel Molnar, Răzvan Penescu, and Luchian Abel. (Drawing by Adrian T. Roman)
Versiunea în română a acestui text se poate citi aici, în rubrica Ficțiuni Reale. 
