I haven't played chess since Ingmar Bergman's movie. Since '57, you realize? My IQ must have dropped a lot since then. What can we do, we adapt. I'm here to kill time, as they say, only that expression doesn't make sense to me. You know, sometimes it's hard for me to decide. Take it now or later? My soul, I mean. I'll put another quarter in. If the devil's eye comes up three times, I'll take it the next morning, leave it for a couple hours, like in Alanis Morissette's song, and let it be happy it won. Ironic.
Ana Maria Dobre-Nir
I don't know if I told you how Safta died, that mistress who moved to Paris after the revolution. She was in a slot house in Monaco, and I happened to be there. With white hair tucked under her shawl, she pressed the buttons with trembling hands. Suddenly there was a deafening noise: the police were chasing a fugitive, but the stray bullet had hit her right in the head. Safta collapsed silently with a coin in her hand. And, surprise, three sevens on the screen. Well, Safta's gone, but I'm still the winner. This cognac is for her soul. May God have mercy.
Nicolae Popescu
Evening in Videle. Death enters the slots room. Everyone freezes, fingers on the buttons. I got to get somebody out of here today. Who drinks, smokes, and is addicted to slots? I know, all of you. I've studied your files. The machine in the corner, there's a skinny guy with glasses. Uh, who are you? I'm Vlad, I'm a mathematician, I study probability theory. I just cracked the code, now I'm on special. Death's hood's coming off his skull: damn this sadness. I'll put in a hundred, looks like the boy's good.
(Translated by Corina-Alexandra Belu / 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.