Nouă de Scriere
We are the New Writing. And we are everywhere. The Stilus Novus, motherfuckers. The Empire is dead and your conventions are meaningless. I met her in a train station. She was lovely. We sat in silence and watched as people boarded their trains and people exited, were met by smiling loved ones, overjoyed laughter, pensive hand-wringing, relieved hugs. We watched and when it was over and all the trains had left and all the people with them she smiled at me and then she left. She never told me her name and we will never see each other again. I do not even know the sound of her voice. She was lovely. I met her in a train station.