The Roman truck crawled forward, slowly leaving behind the asphalt road - paved long ago in the rush to build a bright future. Thick smoke trailed behind it, mixing with the dust kicked up by its worn-out tires, so frayed they seemed ready to explode at any moment. I never would have imagined you could cram so many students into the truck bed, its wooden sides making it feel like we were young cattle being hauled off. One last pothole jolted us, awakening a sudden longing for the empty high school classroom, in the middle of a freezing October.
Florina Hegedüs
From the edge of the port, where many colorful boats are anchored, the street begins. It's about three kilometers long. With a slow, swaying stride, taking in the well-preserved buildings. You can walk it in a good half-hour. The town itself isn't extraordinarily beautiful. It's just pleasant. Easy on the eyes. But only at the street's end do you step into a scene that makes your pupils widen. At the foot of a hill that holds up the sky, there's a forest of sweet chestnut trees. Long ago, elegant gentlemen met free-spirited women here. In this sublime setting, my mother brought me into the world.
George Dometi
The word I keep tight between my legs makes me make it big (thick, long, and proud). I've never turned down a dumb woman in my bed. What does my head (vascularized in color) have to do with hers (a non-color)? I won't deny that below the waist, a woman has a wolf's mouth that devours you alive, but her chatter shows she's a woman who's stepped out of the village. I don't shy away from posh intellectuals either (since they're Latino-finicky), but I can't paint with a hairy brush on a refrigerator easel.
(Translated by Cristina Ioana Bontea / 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.