Zagreb, February 1991
Cake with eleven candles. Nena had had them made by the pastry chef at the center. She was a very thin woman, she had a huge helmet of curls on her head, they looked like geraniums. There was decoration with Disney cartoons, there was a rose with my name on it. There were four friends from school.
For the first time I find myself unwrapping presents. I find the Walkman in a blue package with a pink rosette. It looks the same as the careless- looking school kids, the ones who come in with headphones in their ears under the hood of their sweatshirt, their hands sinking into their pockets and the latest rock album by Nirvana playing in the background.
I blow out the candles, smear my face with cream, eat cookies, cake, chips and popcorn.
Carousel music invites me to
