hopped off the back-to-Beograd train without knowing where i was—beyond beyond Zemun Polje.
you could set me down somewhere in this probable vicinity, and i'd probably get home—free of probable charge and, most probably, able to explain, to the three people who would (beyond probably) invariably ask, how they, too, could do so.
at some point, nothing further can go wrong. but, after all: i carried with me the tins of food donated from the Swiss government, the biscuits that would keep through raging storms, across wide placid seas, and still suitably serve guests.
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2 comments:
Ugh. So which *way* is the wind blowing?
A simple typo takes all the fun out of a quip.
i will copy-edit any day. but there are certain things i can neither answer—nor explain why their being asked is completely misaligned.
the closest i reach regarding that wind thing, though: "it depends on how i'm a-feeling." probably western....
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