So here I am, again in Europa.
After the place I used to occupy one or two bean sacks and sometimes a table was no more, I was forced to nomade toward another shopping mall, further up the road – between the streets of Oz and The Iron Wolf.
Pretty, adventurous, right? Well, yes, The best way to put it. No mystery, no romantics.
Blunt and blatant post-80’s reality, saturated with illusions and manipulation-infested, still breathing with a strange kind of hope defying all logic.
Here I am, but the bean sacks are not in the same place. I am also kind of out of place.
Not alone anymore, a member of local communities, with friends I meet and loved.
I don’t even bother looking at the girls anymore – waiting for someone’s final decision and trembling at the thought it might be a negative one for me takes enough time and energy itself.
I get around pretty well as far as the local language is concerned, not so much as far as my boss is concerned. With her, I don’t get along, even though she does not speak her language to me.
Or maybe for that very same reason. The worst, however, is that I won’t be able to learn the local language for the very same reason.
My dream’s coming true is back. To never.