falling back

i'm no longer surprised that my legs don't get sore from biking. but, comrades, this accustomed phenomenon is strange, is it not? my ribcage aches, from clenching against the cold; i am, thus, redeemed from total unnaturalness, albeit nugatorily.

up into the wee hours with Welcome Real Conversation over the slipshod lines. so, when i woke up a scant few later, it was with great confusion about time (and space, but that's a matter for another day). hedged all bets, egged all baskets, and otherwise idiomed all entireties with the one displayed on the trusty computer and figured i had time to try running again. the wind was still with us, but at least i could breathe.

David and Sara decided to come down from Novi Sad, so we met at the Anglican church and then escaped quickly after the service and before the instant Nescafe. with me walking the new bike, we tried to search out the supposed vegetarian restaurant near NB, but didn't make it all the way to its presumed location; tramvaji are even more whacked with the absurd debilitating construction down by the eki, and i wasn't going to insist on a hike for the sole reason that, well, i'd take it myself. ended up eating at a nationalist joint on Kralja Aleksandra. after i had valiantly made it nearly down the entire [Masha] salads part of the menu, stopping at each entry only to discover that somehow it wasn't available, the waiter offered to make me something with mushrooms.

beware the disillusioned, disgruntled MCC disvolunteers over their "nice lunch" (the only one they've had since they were last together because, well, they're all vying for the miser-of-the-year award).

afterwards, trekked up to Kalemegdan, where we encountered some SARP gathering. remarkably coordinated gray heads and shuffling feet, accordion music and plastic containers of beer. we thought about finding our own (all of those), but stood for mere observation while the men beside us lamented a lack of the Communist party in Serbia which exists in every other (they named them) country.

home in the shadows to huddle (over some translations) in the evening. after a thorough and prolonged bone-chilling, it takes a while to recover; even slight exposures are awash with recollection and the nagging sense that escape is only ever temporary—especially when the darkness falls, now, still earlier.