When I close my eyes at night, the first thing I see is a great ball of wool, lit up like neon in my inner vision. It’s intricately rolled, an Ariadne-ish weave...
A girl and a woman approach each other on the street going the opposite direction.
The girl is 15, maybe 16. The woman is three times her age, maybe more.
...
The birds and the bees come and go. They graze on my leaves. They flutter against my stalk, buzzing or chirping their contentment. They always pause at my flowe...
I see: everything. Yefim’s fist, French fries jutting between tattooed fingers. He scans the line, yellow-green eyes sharpening, tickets under plates. One thing...
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...
