Mykhail Kruchevich
had hit his wife only once. Whether he had then considered her possible
response, he could not now remember, nor could he recall what had pr...
The imaginary baby
Put a pillow under your t-shirt. Turn sideways and look in the mirror. This is not what it will look like. Hold a stuffed animal in your ...
When they are not on duty, the James Bonds live at 125 Wellington Square. From the outside, it is nothing more than an unobtrusive gray metal door set in a worn...
She’s all sharp angles and dark and heavy brooding, anyone can see that. As soon as she opens the door she thumps herself down on the seat, turns to the window ...
The Red Rope
The abortionist lives in the jade city, in a maisonette tucked beneath the jasper bridge. A red rope hangs from the doorknob. After school, her ...
Oh street of little romance I greet you. In a few leafstrewn steps I have saluted your quiet carehome at the top, the straddlings of carwheels on your kerbs. Fe...
I bought flowers at the grocery store even though I didn’t mean to buy flowers at the grocery store.
Fresh flowers are for afternoons when you feel shiny and...
Mathias Ford watched the clock on the white wall. It read eleven fifty in the morning. He sat on a brown metal chair at a worn wooden desk near the entrance to ...
You'd have thought it was a mad scientist who gave me the Emptiness Machine, but that's not true. It was a poet.
I saw the poet three times before the world ...
I let him into my flat. He puts the empty bottle of vodka on the floor and walks around, lays a hand on the wooden box on my coffee table, the box that looks li...
