Walking Along Brighton Beach


As soon as Ashley came down the stairs from the subway, which rattles across a bridge over Brighton Beach Avenue, it all came tumbling out: who he really was and that he was married. Every time a train passed overhead it drowned out what he was saying and he would have start over.

Short, but affecting and a little haunting—on the London Review of Books blog, Peter Pomerantsev recounts a story about a short-lived romance, set on Brighton Beach in 1982.

Sarah Edwards lives in New York. You can find her virtually (at her blog, scedwards.tumblr.com or twitter, @eddy_sarah) or at the pie shop she works at in Brooklyn, where she would definitely like to serve you a piece of pie. More from this author →