“I unwound myself from the sheet and grimaced down at my tacky, crumpled sundress and sticky knickers still halfway down my legs. It was fucking violins too, really high-pitched and intrusive, with some accordions and clarinets thrown in. The tune was in a minor key, somewhat mournful and yet with a spirit that the sad phrasings couldn’t quite crush. Perhaps it was that gypsy violin music János had mentioned … János. He was coming here. At … I checked my watch. Fuck. Seven. It was ten past. I le...apt out of bed and ran hither and thither, wanting to shower, change, open a bottle of wine, maybe do some food, make the bed, brush my hair, put on make-up … The excessive number of things I wanted to do meant that I did none of them, simply rushed about pointlessly all the more until, drawing close to the balcony doors, I suddenly realised that the music wasn’t coming from a neighbouring apartment. It was coming from the street. I made sure I had at least yanked up my knickers before opening the balcony doors just a fraction and peeping outside, down to the cobbles below.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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