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.

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