Wasting extra time (short stories, Patakis Publishers 2020)
Tychero (novel, Patakis Publishers 2017)
The cardboard box (novel, Patakis Publishers 2015)
The full light of the moons (short stories, Patakis Publishers 2011)
Of this World (novel, Kedros Publishers 2009)
Pork with Cabbage (short stories, Kedros Publishers 2004)
The chairs were part of a set, along with a round table, her taste, and she saw no
reason not to buy them. Furthermore, her husband had no objection, having noticed the price which relieved him of the burden of justifying their purchase with their fine quality and practical purpose; there was also the color, dark brown, a color most appropriate for a kitchen with brown cabinets, a fact he posed often as the main reason for agreeing to the purchase to whomever noticed the new acquisition, but seeing that no one paid him any mind, he resigned to listening along with everyone else to the reasons expounded upon by his wife, who pointed out their sturdy and high back, the weave of the straw matting, how well it wrapped around the frame, indestructible those chairs. As for the table, what could you say, it served its purpose, didn’t take up much room, not that there wasn’t room to spare, and which could be made larger if need be. Reasonable as well, his wife went on, to which he nodded in agreement, she had a good job bargaining with the carpenter bringing down the price considerably to her husband’s great satisfaction. This was no time for frivolous expenses since they had just bought the flat with his retirement bonus and a not so negligible loan, paid off in installments from their monthly pension, not that it wasn’t
enough, but at their age they had to put some money aside for a rainy day. Life can be full of surprises.
Their son wasn’t there when they brought the chairs home. He was still living
with them and it would be another year before he moved into a tiny one bedroom
apartment to be near his job, much to his mother’s dismay. Come now, she’d say,
that job is not forever, and why would you want your own place anyway, there are
expenses – why don’t you just save the money. In any case, he wasn’t there at the time, but even if he was he would have paid no more attention to the chairs than he did when he came home a few hours later. He barely glanced at them, said hello and plopped himself on the one that would break three years later, though not irreparably so, during one of those negligible in cause yet frequent and intense family arguments. The chair was comfortable enough, but he didn’t particularly care for it.
He said nothing, of course, since he had no say in the furniture and the decor of the place in general, though his parents intended it for him – they had already bought a place for his sister when she got married, which she is now leased out to pay the rent where she is living. In any case, his mother would never go along with anything he suggested, she had definite ideas and once she made up her mind, no one could convince her otherwise (…).