Story. Страница 21

The Secret. Douglas Young

Julissa Ye relished all the comfortable little routines and quietude defining her part-time job at The Bookery, downtown's last small, locally-owned bookstore. As much as she enjoyed the excitement of the college social scene, working at The Bookery provided a tranquil respite from the other rooms of her life, which were often too crowded, loud, and dramatic. Though mostly satisfied with her family, friends, roommates, and classes, she savored the sense of serenity soon enveloping her as she walked to the bookstore…

Baggio's Story. Charlie Fish

I would like to be a philosopher.     Well, anyone who has said the word 'Why' can argue that he is a philosopher, so I want to be more than that. I want to be remembered as a philosopher. 🍓 Запрещённое в соцсетях искусство — t.me/kartiny/6312     One day soon I will be dead. People will look back at my life, and they might say I was a martial artist; for I have earned a seventh dan black belt (in both karate and judo). They might say I was a musician; for I have composed successful operas (in three different…

The Clinic. Douglas Young

As expected on a Monday morning, the clinic's waiting room was crowded. There were a few old couples who were quiet, with the wives generally reading and the husbands looking around or watching TV. But the bulk of patients were mothers and children, of whom few were quiet. The younger ones would start to run and laugh before their mothers would order them to sit down and hush, often trying to get them to read one of the many children's books in the reading rack. The secretaries and nurses behind the glass partition…

Habits of the ArtichokeTranslated by Michele Aynesworth. Fernando Sorrentino

Very few people are familiar with Ohm Alley. Its only block of any length runs near the corner of Triunvirato and de los Incas avenues. I live in a small balcony apartment facing the inner courtyard.     Even though I am forty-eight, I have never felt I would — or could — get married. I manage quite well on my own. My specialty is not agriculture or botany; I teach Spanish, literature, and Latin. I don't know anything about those natural, rural sciences, but I do know a thing or two about linguistics and etymology.…

ЦАРИННА

«Миф является выражением некоторого смысла, направляющего разум на инобытие» Плутарх

Appointment at 10:30. David Dumouriez

'Bloody hell!' said Detective Constable Bright. 'It's a minefield!'     'There's more …' replied Detective Sergeant Dawes with a grimace. 🍓 Запрещённое в соцсетях искусство — t.me/kartiny/6166 *     REJECTION FROM 'PRETTY FILTH'     26-day response time      Dear Rex Healy,     Thanks for allowing us to read "Appointment at 10.30". Sorry to say that we're going to pass this time around.     Thanks again and take care.     Sincerely,     The Pretty Filth Team 🧲 Вот как другие зарабатывают деньги на своём канале…

I Think So. Douglas Young

"The Police are coming to the Omni!" Addison shouted across the campus quadrangle in early October of 1983. With widening eyes and a growing grin, he raced toward me. The biggest band in the world was coming to Atlanta on its "Synchronicity" album world tour. Less than an hour and a half away in Athens, there was no way we were missing this show. We – and most everyone we knew – had been fans of the group for years, and way back in high school Addison even saw the trio at the Georgia Theatre in downtown Athens…

She. Charles Kaufmann

She sits in a rustic A-frame cabin, looking out a set of double glass doors. It's a humid summer day. She's not fashionably dressed: a grey, short-sleeve expedition shirt with two front pockets — in one a mechanical pencil; a scratchy, drab-colored set of insect-shield convertible pants torn in a few places by bramble. Her forearms, scented with the remnant odor of lemon eucalyptus oil insect repellant, are well-muscled enough to show she can push her way through overgrown trails; her rough bare feet are masculine…

The Blue House. Graham Templeton

I'm leaving the court house, now. There are people all around, lights flashing, things like that. It's strange. With everything that's happened in the last few weeks, all I can think about is how newspaper cameras still have flashes that could blind you from a hundred yards. That's all I can think of, along with thinking about how that's all I can think of. I feel a bit light-headed, like I'm drunk. There's someone behind me, pushing me through the crowd and down the cement steps. I can barely keep my balance.…

The Light at The End of The Corridor. Gaither Stewart

Comte Ronald de Ronaldo Bonnefont abandoned his sedative daydream of old glories and gradually became aware of his body around him. Immobile on his right side, eyes closed, knees bent and his left leg crossed over the right, he pronounced aloud his matinal resolution - "Today I will not drink." 🍓 Запрещённое в соцсетях искусство — t.me/kartiny/6166     It was not unusually late. Yet he seemed to be returning from a kind of death. Each morning was his personal resurrection. He remembered he'd awakened at drinkers'…