I stroked her cheek and whispered that what we had was amazing, but that it was impossible to describe with words. She turned to me and replied: and yet, now that you’ve said it, it’s gone. During the course of the night I tried to take it back, but it was too late. In the morning we shared out our things between us.
Kim Hiorthøy’s book of very short stories manages the almost impossible balancing act of weighing up the comedic against the poignant, tying both together with knots of absurdity. Often no more than a few lines long, this series of 40-odd texts is like a wall riddled with bullet holes, each one offering a snatched glimpse into a contemporary world of mundane, heartbreaking failure, joyous collapse and confounding realisations.
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