Tell me, Alecu, how did you end up on the streets? You messed up, didn't you? Man, Costeluș, it's bad, boss. My wife found out I was going to prostitutes. But what bothered her the most was that I was paying them. She was thinking that instead of buying food for the children, I gave the money to prostitutes. Not even for a second did she think about me. I hadn't had sex in almost a year. I get you, but she's right. Me, even when I wasn't married to Mila, I never gave money to prostitutes. I admit, they get pissed-Hey, the money!-but I run before things get ugly. Always.
Ana Maria Dobre-Nir
On the deserted beach at sunset, two dancers move in harmony to the rhythms of Por una cabeza. The sunlight plays on their skin, highlighting her pale arms entwined with his dark silhouette. Their firm steps leave imprints in the sand as their bodies draw near and pull away in an imperfect rhythm. Her dress twirls with each movement, while his gaze follows her intensely. Every pivot turns their dance into a hypnotic spectacle. que justo en la raya afloja al llegar.
Daniela G. Pătrașcu
Everything was gray, as if all the colors in the world had disappeared. The sky, the room, even his hand. He stared at himself in the mirror, stunned, not understanding where the color had gone. Even the oranges on the table were gray. The Christmas tree they had decorated yesterday, the gifts under it, even the star on top. He looked into the glass, which was, of course, also gray, and wondered if someone had put something in his plum brandy. A strong blow to the back of his neck and a familiar voice snapped him back. Take off those damn glasses, you drunkard! his wife yelled. Have you gone completely mad?
(Translated by Ioana Levîrdă / 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.