SVETLANA FOKINA . IRINA KOVALEVA

Volume 193 is best taken with something cold and something to read. Svetlana Fokina's first LiveFast story is pure appetite. Jessee B finds her barefoot on a teak deck in a cream knit top and cutoffs she never bothered to button. Then she trades the denim for a bikini crocheted to look like watermelon, with a Welcome Drink never far from her mouth, and he shoots up at her from the pool steps as she perches on the ledge. By the time she stretches out across the loungers, the top is the last thing to go.

Then the issue lowers its voice. Andrea Soverini photographs Irina Kovaleva in grain and grayscale: curled on a gray sofa with a thumbed paperback of the Beats, smoking on a stone bench in the garden, and glimpsed through windows layered with leaf reflections. Then she lifts a little point and shoot and aims it straight back at the lens. It is Unfiltered in every sense, and she is more poised than anyone holding a book that small has a right to be. One muse is all sugar and the other is all subtext, and 160 pages is barely enough of either.