Mr. Petrica

I met Mr. Petrica in Herastrau. He was smoking used cigarette butts and smelled like dead flowers. Had the stern posture of a general and the delicate gestures of a watchmaker. He wasn’t begging, but didn’t refuse to eat with me, either. Thus, I learnt his story was not at all as I had imagined…

Nea Petrică

Cu Nea Petrică m-am împrietenit în Herăstrău. Fuma chiştoace de pe jos şi mirosea puternic a flori uscate. Avea severitatea posturii unui general şi gesturi delicate, ca de ceasornicar. Nu cerşea, dar nici nu m-a refuzat să mâncăm împreună. Aşa am aflat că povestea lui nu e deloc cum credeam eu…