by Lukasz Witczak
Remember that day in Madrid when we almost broke up? The sun was going down over Palacio Real and cast orange light on your weeping face. On our way back home along a short and narrow street, I peered over into a wide-open first floor window and saw what looked like a scene from a movie: a man with a dog sitting at the sill in a cozy semi-darkness of a room, a woman at the back singing him a happy song in a pretty voice. We could still hear her voice in the street for a few more seconds. And a few moments later a car screeched to a halt behind us on the one-way street, the door opened, but nobody got out and the car stood there for a couple of seconds, then it started again with the door still open, then stopped again after several meters and behind the windscreen we saw a couple fighting, waving their hands, almost coming to blows. Finally the door shut and they drove off, still arguing.
Lukasz Witczak translates English fiction into Polish.