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Happy Meal

Olga stood in line at the gas station with a pistol in her hand. A fuel pistol. Premium 95. In her other hand — a breast. The left one. Three-month-old Vanya was latched onto it, strapped in with some elaborate harness system that turned motherhood into an extreme sport. The tank showed 23 liters and 38 kopecks when Vanya bit down with his teeth....

Internal Violence

There is a special kind of violence we don't notice because it comes from within. It's the voice that demands: be different. Not who you are now. More focused. Calmer. More productive. Kinder. This voice seems like an ally — after all, it wants our improvement. In reality, it persecutes. We wage war against our own behavior without understanding...

The Note That Wasn't

Old Leo, the jazz pianist, wasn't teaching his only student, Sam, music. He was teaching him silence. Sam was a genius. At twenty, he could play anything. His fingers flew across the keys with inhuman precision. He knew every harmony, every mode, every theory. He was a perfect instrument that flawlessly reproduced any score, even the most complex....