This is The Writer's Voice, new fiction from The New Yorker.

I'm Deborah Treasman, fiction editor at The New Yorker.

On this episode of The Writer's Voice, we'll hear Cassandra Ninish,

read her story, Enough for Now, from the April 6th, 2026 issue of the magazine.

Nynish is a Brooklyn-based writer and curator, who has published nonfiction in The Guardian,

public books and art in America, among other places.

Her debut novel, A Little Bit Bad, will be published in May.

Now here's Cassandra Ninish.

Enough for now.

Martha noticed the Dutch backpacker, of course.

He was sitting next to her for eight hours in the hard sleeper from Cheyenne to Gwalen.

She could tell he was Dutch from his accent in Mandarin, like blurry German.

He was engaged in a battle of courtesy with some policemen over a brand of cigarettes called Long Life. Long Life, the police would say

every hour or so, holding out the pack and shaking it at him. Long Life, the backpacker would

reply with a chuckle and wave a hand in front of his face to say, no, thank you. Long Life

cigarettes smelled like early death and bitter, frustrated dreams. At 25 cents a pack,

they were considered a medium-status brand, still a splurge for most people in China. The perfect

cigarettes for bribing a low-level law enforcement officer, for example. Foreigners might have

smoked them just to be cool and ironic,

if they weren't so awful. The backpacker's refusal seemed to hurt the policeman's feelings,

and they would raise the stakes with each offer, nagging, scolding, and by the fifth time,

practically shouting, long life, long life. The backpacker, not understanding that

...