I want to call out to Samirah
No. I’m not dead. And I’m not going to die. I’m sure I’m not going to die. Because I’m still thinking. My brain is working. So I’m ok. And now the pain has even receded to the point where I can hardly feel it. I’m fine. I'm just a bit dizzy, and extremely tired. And I’m a little cold. But it’s that comfortable kind of cold, the kind you feel when you’re running a fever, climb into bed and snuggle up under the covers, hugging yourself, with your thighs against your chest and your lips stuck to your knees. And now I’m trying to lift my legs, but even as I imagine them pressing against my chest, nothing has moved. [read more]

I went to see her, pa
I bent down, cupping my hand over my eyes, as if shielding them from the sun, and I whispered to him, “I went to see her, pa. I went to see her." [read more]

The Madonna round Evelina's
He had met her in the Hungry Duck, in the heart of Moscow, where the ladies can drink as much as they like free of charge until half eleven at night. The two of them happened to be at the bar. She with a Hanky-Panky, he a Vodka Martini. Their eyes fell first on the glasses; then, they looked at each other and realised that they were, kind of, alone. And it´s astonishing how, even in the freeze of Moscow, one word leads to another. And the following morning, he was a little surprised for as he was leaving her tiny apartment, Evelina hinted that she would like to meet him again. And so they did. [read more]

Myslovitz
He’d never seen such bizarre, gawky seeds as those before. They were like roasted peanuts split in two. Almost everyone thought they were coffee beans. "Sambuca memories, eh?" "Yep. Sambuca memories," he would routinely answer, whenever someone peered among the shelves in the lounge and spotted the three seeds placed together on one of the ledges. And each had their own particular story related to Sambuca, and it wasn't long before he'd heard them all. [read more]

At Livia's Bar
This time she’s building a city. The first city after eleven islands in a row, now gathered together in the soft red folder which, when her father goes out for a coffee in the evenings and she finds herself alone, she takes out of the drawer beside her bed, pulls out one of the maps and descends somewhere upon it. Here she comes to a chocolate shop, full of fragrance and chocolate powder. Here she comes to a lounge with a giant television, and she quickly darts her way to the front door before they catch her and think she’s a burglar. Sometimes she finds herself in the middle of a street, among the cars and motorbikes. [read more]

Southern Wind (extract)
"Are you going to the funeral?" Melanie asked him, as she reached over to the bag to take out the bottle of sun cream. "The whole village is going," replied Jason, his eyes hidden behind his chunky sunglasses. "Let me put a little cream on you," she said to him, and before he had a chance to answer, she had already squeezed out a fistful of sun cream and was spreading it over his chest. [read more]