Adrian, the grocer, had covered his stall with posters of great boxers. I told him. Kid, you know I always buy from you. Starting today consider yourself lucky. You get 350 RON if you fall down in the third round. We kept working closely together. We were going big guns in business. We won the audience on TV with his life story, after he won the first professional fight. Then, very quickly he became a world champion. It would have been fair play if I had published this diary after the countdown. Forgive me, champion.
Oana Jindiceanu
I slouch like a freshly grown fern leaf. My arms stretch so much that I seem to be dragging them around after me like a train. My pain melts in the autumn light, and its colours and flavours bring me so much joy that if I let go of the heavy bags, I would fly. I look at the clear sky and: Watch where you're fucking going. You hit my surgical wound with those bags, you lame cow! Look at her carrying all that grub. Stop gorging, you fool, can't you see you're so fat you walk like a duck, you fucking piece of bacon.
Vero Anttheia Teodoru
and quinces bitter likelife, goddamit. With yellow puff like chicks, not to mention we found an old ABC book from 1868. A new way of reading and writing for the first grade of primary school. A pakistani sold it to me in Bobocica market, not knowing what it was, poor guy. He was sitting on the kerb with his merchandise in the rain. When he was free, he sold what he could find in dumpsters, the rest of the time, he delivered food on his moped. The yellow insulated bag kept him warm, reminding him of his mum cooking. On that day, he didn't sell anything else. He packed up and he was gone.
(Translated by Alina Roșu / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year II / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)
Versiunea în română a acestui text se poate citi aici, în rubrica Ficțiuni Reale.