The story is narrated from the perspective of an American teacher of English at a Bulgarian school, who encounters a young Bulgarian hustler called Mitko.

They meet in an underground “cottage” (to use the English words for such places), where the narrator initially meets Mitko and pays him for sex.

As the story progresses, the relationship changes, although neither of the protagonists know what it is becoming – whether something romantic, something platonic, or simply something fake.

The relationship causes the narrator to re-evaluate their past relationships. He also realises the futility and crushing limitations on life in Bulgaria for young people – his belief is that the only way to better themselves is to learn English and escape the country.

What was charming in the child would not be charming in the man.

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This devastating line speaks to a realisation: that the very qualities that first drew him to Mitko – innocence, defiance, boyishness – are also the ones that curdle with time. The narrator’s tolerance thins; affection turns to discomfort.

And reading it, I couldn’t help but wonder – does my husband feel that way about me sometimes? That my naivety, my occasional child-likeness, are both my sparkle and my static? The things he loves, and the things that drive him up the wall?