Coffee is a prize, sugar a dream and gas a trickle. On the sidewalks, conversation centers on the whereabouts of the lost. Sometimes there is unexpected laughter, especially when a NATO tank roars by, reminding everyone they are safe. But mostly ethnic Albanians just stare into wide, bombed holes and walk over pots and tires and glass and brick and stone and all the things that once held a neighborhood together. They seem puzzled that the cafe is blown away, the butcher's shop is a clump of dust, and the car mechanic's garage is a mess of melted tools - all the handiwork of Yugoslav army troops and Serbian police forces.
Children summon their imaginations to blot out the awful things.
Kosovo Liberation Army. Fastened on the back of his bicycle was a framed picture of his white-bearded grandfather. His spirit will help me. I'm taking the picture to the village where I'm living now. My house was destroyed.