Anna Bolava

  SETTING FREE   I’m sitting in a gutted armchair in the middle of our dimly lit front hall, biding time. When I’m still, I hear...
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Dorota Maslowska

Days that she’d taken for lost, days when she’d felt like air that was slightly thicker and English-speaking, it must have been then that someone had been watching her the whole time, following her, dazzled by her existence, going crazy over her and . . .

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