I linger looking at the plexiglass of a bar. It dulls the sign, only the first two characters are illuminated. A man sitting at a small table looks at me with suffering soul. He has a thick head of blond hair, eating a doughnut. Željko tells me he knows him, tells me he asked him for money two days ago. He has to rebuild the bar and the house upstairs.
At the entrance there is a piggy bank. I approach it. Taped to it is a picture of a destroyed house. The writing can barely be read: milostinja. Charity... There is also a picture hanging, a picture, it is Marshal Tito. The gentleman stands up, smiles, asks me if I want coffee. I shake my head. "Kamilica, je zdrava?" (do you desire chamomile tea?).
"Ne, hvala!" (no, thank you!).
I take the coins from my purse, look for the slot to put the
