Trafika Europe 7 - Ukrainian Prayer

Quiet Flows the Una

charm around their neck? Where would my room go? Why would there be nothing left in our flat but bare walls and gaping holes where the sockets and the toilet bowl used to be? Who would steal all my photos, and on which of the countless heaps of rubbish would they shrivel in the sun like autumn leaves? Who would read my copy of Zvonko Veljačić’s novel about a space-travelling boy hero? Who would take the Super 8 cinema projector and the tapes in the great cardboard boxes with film posters and credits on the lids? Where would the black and white tape of War of the Worlds go? Who would make all the things from our flat vanish

Where would all my letters go – love letters, as well as more trivial ones? Where would my numismatic collection end up, including the gold florin with the countenance of Franz Josef and a copper coin from 1676 with the word soldo embossed on it, which was perforated because someone had worn it as a good-luck

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