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ISSN 1409-6900 | UDK 82+7     Blesok no. 71-73 | volume XIII | March-August, 2010



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                     Peer-reviewed journal
Blesok no. 71-73March-August, 2010
Prose

Swimming in the Dust

(an excerpt from the novel)


/14
p. 1
Igor Isakovski

159.
    
At 22:оо I switched off the mixete, I took my bag and the discotheque tape recorder, Snežana took the bottle and off we went. We said hi to Boža in the lobby and we continued to the pavilion.
    She unlocked the room and we went in. She opened the windows, I switched on the tape recorder and I chose a tape. J.L. Hooker, ‘66. Let’s Go Out Tonight. I looked at the sky. There was no moon. I closed the door. She stood in the middle of the room. In the room there were two beds, a table with two chairs and a sink. I kissed her. She kissed me back and she went to the door. I kept quiet. I wondered how I felt. I did not feel anything special. I was calm.
    “I have to go.” she said with her hand on the doorknob.
    “Why?”
    “Everybody saw us coming here together.”
    “OK. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
    “Can I wake you up?”
    “Yes, that would be nice.”
    “I’ll come early”
    “Come.”
    She returned to me, the kiss lasted long and then she closed the door behind her. I lied on the bed, I reached for the bottle and I dived into the blues. I saw a pack of cigarettes on the table. She’s left them for me, I thought and as I lit one, I opened the door. A guy with yellow hair stood on the other side and he startled. I looked at him, he left down the hallway and entered one of the doors. There were more people in the hallway and everybody looked at me in wonder. Guys and girls. We were peers, about. The hallway looked neglected: the walls were gray and yellow with time and one could not say what their color used to be. The hallway was long and there was a light bulb at every 5-6 meters. The yellow and the gray have found their home. The lights were so weak that I could see the wires inside them. I came back to my room. The door remained open. Some noise came from the outside. Serbo-Croatian with a strange accent. Bosnians, I thought and I put up the music. The yellow-haired guy appeared at the doorframe. He stood and looked at me. He had a smile in his eyes.
    “Come in.” I told him.
    He entered and sat on a chair. I offered him with rakija. He took a sip and he returned me


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