It was raining cats and dogs. He took off his jacket and both of us, crouched under it, and we ran to his grandmother's house. A smell of a closed room mixed with dried lavender that floated around. A record and some vinyl in a corner. Family pictures on the walls, a gas lamp and some handmade lace. It's a small and old house. And a bit of a mess. I don't have time. He told me, embarrassed. He opened some canned beers that I drank with no rush by the stove, and so what followed was a natural flow of things.
Roxana Catana Tarhon
Girl, I saw you last night, you were going to Cișmigiu with your grandpa; nice of you that you get the old man out of the house. No, girll, he's my boyfriend; we've been together for two months. He proposed to me yesterday; we're getting married in three weeks; to catch the honeymoon in Paris on fall; it's lovely. Yeah girl, but you can be his daughter. Girll, no, his children are over 40. And they keep saying that I'm chasing his fortune; they don't know what real love is. Whatever you say, I say he's an old man. Not an old man, girl, he's retro.
Arthur Ianoși
Deconstructivism or controlled chaos? I am like a Guggenheim under renovation. Rusty, like a huge piercing in the ribcage of a modern Adam. A fakir who swallowed heavy metal or sucked from a gigantic bronze female wolf, because she never believed in Romulus and Remus. I am the mother of amazons of today. The female version of the Colossus of Rhodos. A huge, flat-chested Aphrodite. In a few years I'll be a spare parts museum for the new Sapphonia prototypes. I'm ruling in the middle of Lesbos island. 2052.
(Translated by Maria-Ilinca Darie / 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.