Nesfe Jahan, pt 7

I should be on the way South-Westish right now. At the time of writing I don’t know where or when.

Memories of a road between Budapest and Belgrade. A border checkpoint in the middle of nowhere. A highway that simply ends. Single lane turn into 2, getting out of this place is an emergency so it’s allright. Not a mountain in sight for hours. A surprising amount of abandoned cars in the ditch. Their vehicles sure look like dinosaurs. Everywhere there are tons of improvised fruit stands in the back of a van, but not a single permanent building. Who stops for them, anyway? Are they mirages? Is this road even going somewhere? I would be scared to get out. To die of thirst. Nobody would notice, my corpse would be covered in dust in a matter of minutes.