Yes, I live between the lines. Last time it was Toru Watanabe's turn. He treated me to sake at the Norwegian Wood bar. I don't know how he found me, but he said, firmly, I think we think alike, that's what brought us close. He explained that he likes to knit between paragraphs and that in Dreamland you can get anywhere you want just by changing a title. I agreed with him and told him that sometimes I have nightmares, I dream of big cities, with people in them, a frightening racket, and ever-melting snow.
Arthur Ianoși
Big thanks to my cousin Cristi, bless his soul. He croaked in my house. Dirt-poor. I found him dead and stiff next to an Amazon package. Infrared binoculars. From that day, I started writing. Calligraphically, punctually, I don't omit any details. I sign every time at the end. I slip the envelopes under doors and the next day I wake up with two hundred euros in my account. Per envelope. I could ask for more, but I'm not that greedy. I forgot to tell you. I'm a professional snitch. Dear Apartment 18, from Block C4, Entrance 1, I know you've started growing weed.
Cristian Nedelcu
I passed through my life like a ghost. I greeted everyone at school but they all passed me by as if my voice had a unique frequency, undetectable by the human ear. I wrote down my frustrations in a journal, my only confidant. At the 20-year high school reunion, my former classmates stared at me in confusion, unable to place me. They even got my name wrong on the gravestone. After they published my journal, I started truly living. I was dead but no longer invisible.
(Translated by Bogdan Nicola / 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.