Good morning for coffee. I don't understand why I don't attract women anymore. I wear the latest fashions, tight jeans on the back and shaved calves, ankles showing and no socks on my shoes, I shave my chest and go to the gym and to the ironing every week in a tight shirt on my electric scooter, I only vape menthol so my mouth doesn't smell, I only drink non-alcoholic beer. I've also got a dog, they say that's what attracts them, a little curly one that I keep behind me in my man purse. What else can I try, darlings? Kisses.
George Dometi
The dry tar had stuck so well that I had to scalp a chunk off the side. The dirt had soaked in blood, the yawning wounds were juicy, and the stale rot around the gratefully staring eyes was still green. Within two weeks of the operation that lump of skin and bone began to sag, dog-like. After a month, the fur began to sprout little clumps of fluffy, cream-colored pretzels. After two months, though blind, Lucky found me every time.
Florina Hegedüs
In our little alley we were all standing still waiting for someone to show up and change our lives. He showed up. A painter moved into the dilapidated house almost unseen in the weedy forest. Thin, with a wandering look, just enough to deepen the mystery. He has a little puppy, a white, curly-haired puff. He keeps her in the house by day. It's only at night he lets her out and she barks like a mad thing. We're amazed that the painter has invited us to his first exhibition. He has only one painting. Huge. A self-portrait with a puppy and a roast duck. It's like a wake.
(Translated by Victor Albei / 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.