Yesterday I saw him for the first time in a suit. He had had a banquet. I didn't expect him to be so aware of him, so proud. But when he lit his cigarette, he was standing in a way as he knew I was watching him. Bogdan kept telling me he was about to start a band, but his enthusiasm made me sick. I only watched you, until mom called me home. And my night was long. I imagined how you kiss all your mates. Today I planned to con history. The baccalaureate is coming and I don't give a fuck.
Gabriela Rus
For journalists, the cultural events are a fads that spoil their plans. She's sick of all of them. Lots of people today too, a concert at the synagogue, a material for the Sunday afternoon TV Journal. She didn't believe she liked symphonic music, but this time she's entirely spellbound from the first chords. She stays the same even when people start to stir behind her. The explosion sweeps everything, like a huge wave. Her last thoughts with her staring at the inscription above the altar are: This isn't a bad way to die.
Gheorghiță Mircea
A message from 666. On Sunday afternoon, at the crossroads. Only he knew about the crossroads; with him I made the deal. He would wait for me. Out of habit I thought how to dress. With what? When I realised what a stupid question I was asking myself, I thought I should take the red dress I had worn then, at our first date. According to the deal, it fitted me even now. According to the deal again, I'm still 90-60-90. At 66 years. Goodbye, diary. I call a taxi. Where to?ask the driver. To the hell, I say, but then, seeing his puzzled face, I correct myself: to the Crossroads Pub.
(Translated by Florina Georgiana Țîncu / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year I / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)
Versiunea în română a acestui text se poate citi aici, în rubrica Ficțiuni Reale.