dalmatian epilogue

at the wrong end of a string of 5 days in makarska, dozens of rakia, rocks instead of sand, homemade everything. crossed the country with old friends in esad ribic, cb cebulski and brian azzarello. ate at kalalarga like the world was gonna end with new friends adi granov and tamsin isles.

it didn't end. not at 4am, not at 5. it didn't end when they closed the bar or when the cops came to tell us to go home or when slavin responded loudly about his kalashnikov. it didn't end when the giant sunburnt danish man approached me angrily about the time i'd called him chinese across the room at a restaurant i'd never been to. it didn't end when i met who he'd confused me with… a man i can only describe as a homeless slovenian eli wallach 20 years my senior.

in my head, the trip doesn't end, we're still sitting there at a table, fresh olive oil and wine, baked rabbit, smoked tuna, warm bread. in my head we never leave that table.

thank you, mafest, thank you kalalarga, thank you adriatic sea.

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