“U pičku materinu. Ubio san njega, jel de?”
“Aj me meni, Mirko, sad si najebo.”
“Ma. Da. Spasio san sve. Vidćeš ti, moj Dragane.”
Mirko did not notice the crimson pooling at his feet. But neither an algal bloom on the shores of Pula, nor memories of Communist uprisings would ever compare to blood he now had on his hands. The man was dead.
Nothing could stop him from doing what he had to do. This was his fucking Selo.
In “A Coward”, Guy de Maupassant¹ reminds us that what people want most in life is to be respected.
If, when face to face with the other man, he did not show a proper gallantry and calm, he would be lost for ever. He would be sullied, branded with a mark of infamy, hounded out of society.
I’m sorry. But you just no welcome.
Who you think you are? Big shot Amerikanci. Come to my Selo, take my land, take my voće, my povrće and sell oversea? Give me money and box of beer then fuck off? I no need of your gifts. I no need of your money. How dare you show off!
It has been almost 10 months since I quit my job working as a software engineer at an internationally renowned pharma tech company. I was making good money and living in an exciting Central European city. I would eat out almost everyday. Turkish Martin from Arselan Kebab (he looks like me) give me free kebab from time to time. I would go out on dates many times per week. But this was mainly because of my premium Badoo subscription. Like pervert I sniffed their private API and issued to myself free tokens.
