Columns

by Svetlana Slapšak

“Her voice sounded like it came out of the deep urban night film noir – from the night that trembles from loneliness and nostalgia, love and separation, of chaos, of longing and abandonment, of the signs of life and breathless, of the shadow which hides a lover and dreams that do not need her, of post-coital melahncholy that you can give the voice just words, and tears flowing on their own – from the night he sifted through and scattered the old turntable speaker – from those exotic, saturated, smoky, gambling, ecstatic night in which her name was Shanghai Lily – from the night that promises love at first sight, a cigarette, a few words and the good old days. ”