Life you deserved. He said that. A people you deserved. A country you deserved. Why must I deserve anything? On the way here I passed the city. Almost the whole of it: all its holes in the asphalt, fallen facades, awkwardly whitewashed monuments, rickety trams, dirty markets, broken drains, warped fences, cheap awnings, spat-on shop windows, shit-strewn parks, glittering houses of worship, rotted rows of trees, rusted busts of great men, frozen street vendors, trembling beggars, sullen passersby, bald ticket-inspectors, sad couples who think everything will be all right, worried students with books in their hands, brainless drones sucking hookah and greeting each other with “selam, brate”, frightened nuns walking in groups like magpies, wrinkled street-cleaners, children in smeared clothes screaming for this or that, sleepless parents smearing their children’s mouths with chocolate or ice cream to shut them up, to finally shut them up, puzzled policemen counting on their fingers how many days to retirement, Jehovah’s Witnesses and Hare Krishnas, women with eyes cast down, idiots eating in an Indian restaurant, fools eating in a sushi place, peasants eating in ćevapi joints, burek shops, aščinicas, jerks throwing garbage from windows because back in their villages the cow would eat it, unlucky ones selling books on the street because only misfortune makes you sell a book, idiots buying books and never reading them, illiterates in suits, government clerks for this or that, empty-heads with official cars, empty-heads with official cars under rotation, civil servants whose offices stink like ashtrays, pissed-off waiters, even more pissed-off customers, failed writers with bulbous noses, Jakov somewhere satisfied with himself, and me on the railing between Maša’s and Jakov’s building with a good supply of alcohol, cheap. What if I had agreed? I count bottles. It will be enough to reset me. To let me reset. There are other factors. Humiliation, for example. Total annihilation of dignity. The night is young, there’s time. A few people passed a short while ago. They looked at me with that quick glance they think goes unnoticed. I look like a homeless person, of course. A beggar, whatever. I rummage through dumpsters. I ruin the reputation of what people now call the neighbourhood. Those good, worried neighbours can’t do anything yet. The alcohol is safe in the rucksack. Later their petit-bourgeoisie will serve well. Nothing enjoys another’s humiliation like petty-bourgeois people. Mouths full of “I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care.” They do care, very much. Lights still on in the flats. Channels spun one last time on the TV before switch-off. A cup of milk warmed. One last piss before bed. Teeth brushed with that battery toothbrush whose head spins, to scrub away food and bad bacteria. Evening melting into night. Soon everyone will go to sleep. Tomorrow is a workday.
