Continued

Prospects in Prose

Prospects in Prose I dreamt I was smoking a cigarette and cold Elzbieta Z. from Otwock was peering over her glasses in a huge department store full of merchandise stocked like in the West, where she was a shop girl, and chocolate, if I read the price correctly, cost exactly 1,087 ziotys. Elzbieta had white, slightly gelatinous flesh, heavyish but sweet in its own way,just like Maciek told me. Crates smelled of late-harvest grapes, and I pinched one between one puff of smoke and the next so nobody would collar me, beats me why frankly, since I had the cash, that much I remember, which seemed western, too. I must've swiped something else, for I left on the sly pretending to walk straight, like I wasn't scared of anything, and yet afraid to talk to her. My face was still a boy's, I knew it by how I walked,Mother wasn't sick yet, my son, though little, was growing moderately well, and everywhere they even had sugar galore. 55 ...