Here on stari trg. 32, at the slascicarna café.
Here where an excavation is happening literally in front of you. The thing is of course, surrounded by that bright orange plastic fencing. That stuff that is probably in a big roll, and they unroll it and weave a long metal pole through the loops and they have a bright and temporary fence. It is this. And there is the yellow sign to my right that says ‘palacinke’ and this means pancake and there is a little stick drawing of a man cooking on a grill, holding arms above his head, each arm holding a cooking utensil. What about that? And the guys in front of me are dressed in green with white stripes. It is a bright mint green. Not as full as Christmas green, there is more yellow in it, but it feels synthetic nonetheless, and the white stripes of their outfits are two, around the ankles, and two around the wrists, and two around their abdomen at the level of the navel. An old woman to my left stares at a window where there is a doily-type lacy tablecloth and I realize that her shawl looks almost exactly the same as this. Does she realize this? Is all action motivated by this sort of narcissus at the pond behavior? No. but it happens, man. Well it is break time at the construction site. One guy stands watching the four others in the pit, who are sitting/ squatting. the man who drives the digging machine/ scooper thing, sits alone, facing away from the others. A child screams horribly behind me and it is a cry that seems to convincingly advocate vasectomies.
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