It's not death we fear as much as running out of cigarettes and coffee. In the distance, the first sign of spring, a few green leaves, grass on the hilltops, mingles with the bad odor of fumes, gas, fire and smoke. The Danube has turned black from the oil refinery explosion. The trees pause in the rain. Everything passes like a funeral procession.
Nothing stops the night bombs.
What's strange is we're becoming used to it. Someday, the American Corporations will raise their ugly glass buildings from this rubble. And no one will remember how beautiful this ancient city once was, with its village churches and tall clear windows. Much like our Albanian neighbors. The trees hold back their tears under fire, knowing full well that they, too, will burst into flames.