I’d ask myself, How did I get here? How did this happen? then remember, and forget again, and carry on like everything was normal, which of course it was.
Alberto did something to displease a Russian customer, who, as a sort of warning, mimed slitting his throat.
“You’re in the land of Zion,” now, he shouted, “you’re in the land of the Jews!” He was obviously a lunatic, but I didn’t want to back down.
If you’re thinking of seeing the Ministry for yourself, it is probably wise to take sandwiches, a thermos and maybe a sleeping bag.
I have measured out my life in expensive hotels, it seems, and I gauge my tan in types of honey. I am now millefiori, and aspire to castagna.
She looked disgusted, as if I’d admitted to a taste for rat, or beetroot, or something.
I ask if there’s anything that connects us, the new immigrants. ‘We didn’t fit in at home?’ says Megan, in that way that makes statements sound like questions.
Everyone’s eyes were on it, their heads moving with it like at a tennis match.
Rainbow flags everywhere; hanging from balconies, flying from lampposts, in café windows. If this isn’t the gayest city in the world it is, at least, trying to be.
We may be the definition of rootless cosmopolitans, citizens of the world.
Rufina’s face changes colour like a cuttlefish, pink to red to white. A tear runs down her cheek.
She looks behind her, as if to remind everyone of something, and flicks her hair, like a pony flicks its mane.