Oh, how nice of you, payment up front and a guarantee without even seeing the attic. You know it's on the sixth floor, right? And there's no elevator? No air conditioning either? I don't care, let's sign the rental agreement. I'm not going to live here anyway. I see, you want privacy or maybe a little hideaway? Be serious, at seventy years old, that's hardly on my mind. Then forgive my curiosity, why throw money out the window? For the perfect crime. Really? Yes. My mother-in-law is still around, and I'm planning to invite her here for dinner. I think by around four o'clock, she'll be done for.
Mirela A. Nica
To get there, you had to take an elevator built between the two world wars and then cross a bridge with a damaged roof. In winter, I would stop and stand there, mouth open, staring up at the sky. The snowflakes tasted like childhood and made me forget that I had to buy food on instalments. It also had the advantage of being close to work, right in the heart of the capital. It was tiny, the walls pressed in on you worse than a corset around your waist. I lived there until I trained my soul to walk at a steady pace.
Cristian Nedelcu
Maybe I was drunk, high, or who knows what, but I somehow ended up a tenant in this "perfect" attic. I've always hated stairs. What the hell was I thinking? Well, since I'm already up, I figure I might as well make myself some coffee. Say what you will, but I can't function without it. A white pigeon spread its wings and lifted me out of bed without me making any effort. Just as I went to take a sip of my coffee, it lifted me again, and I couldn't even reach the cup with my mouth. That's it, I said. I'm moving to the basement. What the hell?
(Translated by Laurențiu-Gabriel Niculae / 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.