Not Because She Dislikes Me
Time to try to fill this rectangle of white again. Present fills the air with sweet, ordered madness. Tomorrow brings yet another unknown: Vesna and Bosnia. To those avid readers who do not know, Vesna is a Bosnian girl that I “met” during my stint at 12Snap in Muenchen. She is now nervously chatting with me on ICQ, feeling uncertain about her decision to accompany me to Tuzla, Bosnia - her home town. It is not because she dislikes me or anything of the sort, but that she is married and her husband knows not of my existence.
I first met her on ICQ while avoiding doing some much more intellectually satisfying (surely) things at my windowside desk in the sweatshop-style office for the programmers of that abomination which was/is 12Snap. Procrastinating making progress on the abortive payment server, I checked the ICQ whitepages to see if there were any German sheep worth molesting, particularly any in Muenchen. So I found Vesna. Unbeknownst to me at the time, however, she was there before her computer with three friends, all poised to strike back at my eloquent attempts to befuddle them. After some haggling, we decided to “meet” during the next week (consequently, the night before I left for Prague, ending my stay in Germany), a meeting that I failed to attend because of another interesting story involving the receptionist at our hotel, Jenicek, Vanja, and the alcoholic Lebanese princess, Maria.
The next time I “spoke” to Vesna on ICQ was after the big fun in Australia with Bender-boy. And for three months, a strange but intriguing “relationship” has culminated to what will be the adventure beginning tomorrow - the trip to Bosnia with her.
She is naturally a trembling sack of nerves at this moment. Afraid that Alex (her husband) will find out. Afraid that her father (who is in Tuzla) will see her with me. Afraid that she will get caught up in something she won’t know how to get out of. I leave on the train at 6.59 tomorrow morning, armed with three apples, two bananas, a thinghie of salami, a small cellophane of bread, and my as yet unpacked sundries. Adri claims to want to see me off at the station. I doubt, however, her ability to rise at such an hour and take the lumbering, lugubrious trams from faraway Branik to the grease pit of Hlavni Nadrazi. We shall see.