When I see a girl in tight shorts, that cling to her like they're painted on, gliding by on roller skates, despite the man, with a mug of beer in hand, smiling provocatively and bending down just enough to read "Ozana" on the badge on her chest, then placing the mug on the table next to the other nine I ordered, even though I'm alone, smoking one cigarette after another, and then I steal a glance to watch her walk away after I've asked for another, my heart leaps with joy like Creangă's in his Memories.
Dan Banu
I was waiting in line for tomatoes, with three people ahead of me. I had a crumpled bag in my hand, enough money for two kilos in my pocket, I was wearing the shoes from my daughter's wedding. Only nonsense in my head. Then suddenly it struck me that somewhere I must have made a mistake in life and that I could still start over. All of the sudden, my hair began to grow, my wrinkles smoothed out, my bones strengthened, I got a book, a bike, and short pants. I arrived home just in time to cover my nakedness with Pampers diapers.
Florina Hegedüs
Mother is standing sideways, at rest, on the edge of the dyke. She looks, like me, toward the sea of people spread out in the sand. It's late afternoon. The weather is just right, a little bit humid. Naked, heated bodies exude cheap smells. A man with his shirt unbuttoned and cotton shorts stays apart from the crowd with something on his mind. He exudes masculinity dressed like that. I approach slowly so he won't notice. It smells like him. I take advantange because he's not paying attention and I kiss his ankle. I would've continued if Mom hadn't shouted Anofela, be careful, he has a heavy hand.
(Translated by Laura-Monica Doroiman / 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.