This is the waiting room. When it stops ringing for someone, it starts ringing for someone else. It rings for everyone. The ringtone of a lady across the hall, her prettiness hidden somewhere beneath the irresponsible weight, is a Dalmatian chanson. The melody pretends to be Mediterranean, but it is
Mtg. Café by the sea. Jopa was looking around as usual, carefully making sure that they are not arousing suspicion, and Mima, for first time that week, felt relaxed. He was leaned back in his chair with his hands behind his head enjoying himself. Those long coffee hours out in the street, in the de
It was twilight on a rainy autumn day when my friends Anja and Adalbert turned up unannounced, brushing droplets off their jacket sleeves (my father Mario had already stopped working as a demonologist at ASPIL; he was somewhere in the park, collecting bugs for breeding, while my mother was wiggling
Atomic Bomb Sleeps Nana watches as Father lays new tiles in the toilet: brown tiles on the floor, white tiles on the walls. Father says, “Why don’t you go away, you’re blocking my light.” Nana leaves, and Father lays a new brown tile and says, “Go get me a glass of brandy.” I walk down [
During my one week rest, I visited the British Library. The reading rooms there seemed conducive to serious intellectual work, but in reality, they oozed with an attractive vibration that did everything to kill my concentration. When I first entered this large space with countless desks and sturdy c
December 2006 This disorder is oh-so-terrible, even the doctor doesn’t dare to write F20 on the chart. I don’t know what’s so abnormal about me and I will never find out because the disorder is for life. I’ve had it for ten years. My doctor friend tells me it’s also cal
