Anthea Nicholson

When Jafa suggests the potato expedition, the friends instantly agree. They take practically nothing. They start off straight away. Night. There’s supposed to be a curfew but they pass others slinking through the dark streets. If you don’t stop, don’t make an alarm, it’s safe. There are no snipers. Unless, of course, you count the stars being shot at.

Maybe that accounts for the UFO that many citizens confirm, without a doubt, they see hovering over Tbilisi. The craft can only be recognised as an absence of stars, oval or circular or even square, many variables, because it’s impossible to distinguish between starless space and the true outline of the space ship. On overcast nights it hovers below the clouds and throws its smudged, ever-changing shadow up onto the water vapour.

Some claim its real form is similar to a multi-tiered wedding cake, but revolving. Others say it reminds them of a pillow. One is convinced it’s a copy of his left shoe. All agree that its lights, which come close enough to illuminate the sides of buildings, are day-coloured. It makes no noise.