Special Transcript issue on Maltese Literature

So I tell Ġiljan once, I say, there’s no way I’m putting on a tie, not in this heat, it would kill me dammit, but he says no fucking way Ġuż, you’ve just got to, go on now and get dressed, and change that jacket, that one’s for down below, up here, you wear something different… Jesus Christ, how many times must I tell you, we’ve got de Piro de Celis lined up for today, an eminence he was, know what I’m saying? Couldn’t care less, to tell the truth.

After a while, she said she wanted to do it again and in reply, I reached out towards the clock on the bedside table.
– What time is it?
– Twenty to four.
– Still early, so. Let’s do it again.
And she climbed on top of me before I could protest that I was tired and didn’t feel like it anymore. At twenty to four, I like to be asleep, especially if I’ve got things to do the next day.

Although so much brutality has happened,
Rafel prepares the ground for new engagements:
the two sides facing off across the way.
A presage of the din that means disaster,
of swords piercing the breath of those they slay.