Trafika Europe 5 - Slovenian Interlude

here anymore, and intended to lean my head against the soundless door when, suddenly, the flower-decked door across the way swung open and someone peeked into the hallway.

‘Who are you looking for?’

‘Good afternoon. I’m looking for a gentleman who lives here. I don’t know his name.’

Mrs. Babić eyed me suspiciously, as if I was there to take drugs on her doormat, or rip the petals off her begonias.

‘The gentleman forgot his wallet at the bar across the street, and it doesn’t have any documents in it. I just wanted to return it to him.’

‘Tomislav Zdravković hasn’t lived here for almost three years.’

I nodded, but Mrs. Babić intercepted my sceptical sidelong glance at the newspapers lying on the doormat.

‘A boy used to leave newspapers for Mr. Zdravković. I’ve been trying to catch him for the last three years to tell him he’d moved away, but he always comes at the strangest hours. So I read them and throw them away. So they don’t gather dust.’


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