على صفيح ساخن ح٢

there are many ways to get to montenegro adriatic coast, my taxi driver assured me, raising his voice over a chorus of horns that angrily saluted his laissez-faire attitude toward lane use during morning rush-hour traffic in belgrade. ‘but it makes no sense to take the train.’ he weaved through less aggressive vehicles like a skier clearing slalom gates. a cold, grey autumn rain began to fall harder, drops beading down my window, as the main railway station came into view.