mumber one

Work from issue 1

Interview with Maxim Matusevich

I remember the day I got discharged from the army: it was late in May, I was on a train that carried me from a small provincial town back to Leningrad. The two seemingly endless years of service had ended and the future now seemed like one endless summer.


Sin: winking, convulsions.
Virtue: a halo on the
tabletop. Death: a spring
hanging loose in a smoky
glass bulb.