Category Archives: Fiction

The dump of letters… or something resembling literature

Beatlemania, half a century later

This is a great article, well worth the 5′ read; not only for the sake of nostalgia, but also as a valuable reference for many social (not just musical) events nowadays: . . Who was to say, barely a week … Continue reading

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Mateo

‘Esto ocurría en el bar Venecia. ¡Tú pregútale por ahí a cualquiera qué pasó en el bar Venecia y verás cómo te lo cuentan! Era en los tiempos en que aquí andaba todo revuelto y cada semana había una amenaza … Continue reading

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The fire of my loins

. Anonymous reader: would you stop by  and make me company for just a little while? Look: I can’t help hearing a voice inside me, that is talking to her all the time, pushing its way through my thoughts to … Continue reading

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The theory of two enemies (as seen by a Polish witness).

“One of the school-board’s favourite questions that were randomly put to us at the classes during the Soviet times was: ‘what is the purpose of the theory of two enemies?’ And depending on the answer we provided, our parents could be arrested … Continue reading

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Podlasie

. Podlasie is a stroll in the rain along the forestry park, and a sweet — sweet first kiss under the umbrella: her strangely bland lips, intensely crimson, constantly juicy, provokingly fleshy. She in an absurd sanguine dress, all buttocks, … Continue reading

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Greediness (a Polish anecdote)

Today I’ve been to the shop round the corner. My purchase amounted to 18,86 zl. I handle the cashier a 20 zl banknote. The change is 1,14 zl. Does the cashier round it up in my favour and return to … Continue reading

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Stories of the past

. During my last stay in Warsaw, Ela, my 77 y.o. lovely host, told me a number of fascinating stories about the WWII, the German occupation and the ulterior (and much worse) soviet domination. Here’s a little example: After the … Continue reading

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Words in the night

. It was a rare warm winter night in the ancient city. We strolled along the quiet streets of black cobblestone, which reflected, glossy with the rain, the lights of the neons and the streetlamps. Every now and then a … Continue reading

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