I. The second dawn rose in the east, at nine in the morning. Hiroshi had never before seen such radiance. It rivaled the sun. He stood on deck with Yoshi, and the light crushed them beneath its purity. Hiroshi closed his eyes, but even so, the brightness pierced his head. The other crew members clamored…
She knows the alcohol is kicking in when she thinks, wistfully, “Dear old Shakespeare!”
I say: “I guess I’d better take your name…” She says: “It’s Shelley…as in Byron, Keats, and Shelley.” “Hah!…I’m glad you like them too!” I say. “Oh, yes,” says Shelley. “I wish my name were Keats, but it’s not…” I add. “I do too!” she responds. “Thank you for choosing Verizon Wireless.”
I thought the booklet said hands at ten and two on the wheel. But maybe that’s because I like to drive with my hands at ten and two. But the booklet actually says: hands at nine and three. Well, my husband usually drives with his hands at eleven and one, which makes me nervous. And…
“Caramel syrup or caramel drizzle?” “Sorry?” “Caramel syrup or caramel drizzle?” This is an overheard conversation. I look up: it is a tall, slim woman with a ponytail, buying the drink at a Starbucks counter. She is wearing a dark blue uniform. We are in an airport. She is probably a flight attendant. Long pause…
After a weak Trig sed maybee we shud call Gil Semmens, have him Eye-Ball James Elward. Ma laffd, Semmens? Trig shiftid in his chare, looking like he wishd he-ud kept his Mouth shut, but it was too layt for that, Ma full of scorn, was alreddy in his fayce—Had Gil Semmens nown how to saive…
Translated by John Cullen We were in Paradise: there was the fig tree and, over on the right, the apple tree, only half of which I could see through the big French window that opened onto the courtyard; there was moreover a cloud of birds so dense you could imagine it contained an infinite number…
Translated by Lydia Davis When he starts telling stories, people gradually leave the table or turn away and talk about something else, and generally I’m the one who then has the bad luck to be obliged to listen to him. Someone must listen to him, after all, and he is a friendly man and a…
Translated by Lydia Davis Egon is no longer with us, we have buried him—we, a little band of people. Egon was my friend, and he was my reader. I knew him a long time and really from a distance, one of many in the bar, and he burdened people with tricky questions, he could really…
No products in the cart.