Sarajevo. In my imagination it used to be a name of a city, former Yugoslavia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, winter olympics in 1984, the start of WWI.
Then, one early morning I sit down with my first cappuccino of the day, open Rebecca West's Black Lamb and Grey Falcon and read almost the same words as I have just written down in my red diary:
....standing on the bridge over which the Archeduke Franz Ferdinand and his wife would have driven on the morning of June the twenty-eight, 1914, if they had not been shot by a Bosnian named Gavrilo Princip, just as their car was turning off the embankment......crossed to the other bank, where there was a little park with a café in it. We (I, as I was alone) sat and drank coffee.
