Стефан Бонев

 The quiet sounds of the piano were floating across the empty bar like a fresh sea breeze. The light jazz was raining down on the tables, pouring over the polished glasses hanging above the bar, and would finally hide on the leather sofas in the shadow of the boxes to have a rest. Then the rested music would once again sweep high up around the muted lamps and swirl in a thousand colors every time it rotated around the globe with the mirrors hanging over the empty dance floor. Finally the sounds would return to the piano like prodigal sons. Each of them would find the key and the string that have given birth to it in a moment of inspiration. It would replenish itself with harmonies from them and rush along its familiar path.            The piano bar has been closed for a little over an hour now. The last drunk customers were still zigzagging down the streets nearby, trying to find their way by the stars. All were long gone and the chairs were turned upside down on the tables. The floor was mopped and fresh wet streaks left by the cleaner’s mop could…

“Young nations usually achieve through imitation,  rather than through systematic examination.” Dobri Voynikov – “Misunderstood civilization" This whole story started when a second-hand food shop was opened at the opposite of our block. It was big and shiny, it stands were spread out on five floors. To be in tune with what was sold in it, the shop was built entirely from recycled construction materials, imported from England, France, Germany and other member states of the European Union. The biggest pride of its builders and architects was the roof, which had been used to adorn some building in the American city of New Orleans but then it got blown away by Hurricane Katrina. The shop offered a variety of second-hand food. Huge billboards and television screens were depicting the advantages of this type of meal. One of the monitors was showing non-stop, i.e. without interruption, a cute thin middle-aged blonde who was explaining how she melted more than 18 extra kilos using only second-hand food. With tears in her eyes she demonstrated that she can wear out her daughter’s jeans. They were also second-hand, bought years ago in a clothing store in Europe. On another screen an eminent professor with…

  I clearly remember the day my wife sent me out for feta. It was a Saturday. I’d completely forgotten that we were giving a reception for the christening of my daughter. She’d already turned a year and several months. Honestly, I didn’t feel at all like being stuck in a line. I must confess that had it been for something else, I would have refused to go tour the stores on Saturday. But since the occasion was the christening of my very own daughter, my resistance peaked with a sour smile and plummeted in a quiet sigh. I stood up and, with slow determination, folded the newspaper I’d been reading, put on shoes, threw a coat on my back, and left. At the door, my wife reminded me to hurry up. Relatives were on the way and she was yet to start making the feta cheese banitsa, my better half ‘s famous specialty. As I was leaving, I waved to her not to worry and kept walking. Usually when I’m sent out shopping on a Saturday, my first errand is to stop by the tripe kitchen at the corner to bolt down a hot bowl of soup spiced up with…