Chapter 459:

"I just want to have some decent conversations, not talk endlessly about Serbian masterpieces-"
"Stop the car!"
"what?"
"Stop the car!"
Judd pulled the Volkswagen to the side of the road. Mick is out.
The road is hot, but the breeze is blowing. He took a deep breath and walked to the middle of the road. Both pedestrians and pedestrians are empty. In all directions, it is empty. The hill shone in the heat of the wild. There are wild poppies growing in the ditch. Mick crossed the road, squatted on his hips, and picked one.
Behind him, he heard the bang of the public door.
"Why did you stop us?" Judd said. His voice is avant-garde, still hoping for that point of view, begging for it. Mick stood up and played with Venom. At the end of the season, the seeds are about to be planted. The petals fell from the container as soon as they touched the petals, and a little red splash fell on the gray tarmac.
"I ask you a question," Judd said again.
Mick looked around. Judd was standing on the other end of the car, his brow furrowed with anger. But handsome, a face that makes women cry in frustration because he is gay. With a bushy black beard and neatly trimmed eyes, you can watch forever and never see the same light twice. Mick thought, why should he be so insensitive to such a person in the name of God?
Judd returned his contemptuous evaluation and stared at the beautiful boy across the road. Seeing Mick's small movements for his own benefit made him feel sick. This may only be reasonable in the eyes of a sixteen-year-old woman. Among a 25-year-old, it lacks credibility.
A gold chain, small but in the sun, dipped his throat. Meaningless, he returned to Mick's smile and established a peace between them.
"Want to fuck?" he said, his smile not shaken.
One answer is: "It's no use." Although this question was not answered.
"Isn't it?"
"We are not compatible."
"Want to bet?"
Now, he was pulled out of the tent, turned and walked towards the wheat field by the road.
Judd watched Mick pass a special policeman in the rough sea. His back was the color of grain, so he was almost covered by it. It was a dangerous game, played in the open air-it was not San Francisco, not even Hampstead Heath. Judd glanced nervously at the road. Both directions are still empty. Mick turned around, deep in the field, turned and smiled, waving, like a swimmer floating in the golden waves. No one knows, no one knows. It's just a hill, in the heat and fog, their lush backs bend into the ground, and a lost dog sitting on the side of the road, waiting for some lost owners.
Judd walked along Mick's path through the wheat. The wild mouse ran up to him and hurriedly passed between the stalks when the giant came, his feet were like thunder. Judd panicked and smiled. He is not harmful to them, but how do they know? Perhaps before he reached the place where Mick was lying, he had killed a hundred lives, rats, beetles and worms, lying on the bed, stepping on the crushed grain, still grinning.
The car was burning hot and they had to open all the doors and windows to let the breeze cool before driving to Novi Pazar. It's four o'clock and there is still an hour's drive away.
When they got in the car, Mick said, "We will forget the monastery, will we?"
Judd's eyes widened. "I think-"
"I can't stand another virgin."
They laughed together, tasting each other and themselves, mixing the aftertaste of saliva and salt.
The next day is bright, but not particularly warm. No blue sky: only a layer of white clouds. In the morning, the air in the nostrils is as sharp as ether or mint.
Vasilav Yelovsek watched the pigeons begging for death on the main square of Popolak, because they were jumping around in front of the buzzing traffic. Some are about military affairs, some are about civilian affairs. The sober state of mind hardly restrained his excitement this day. He knew that this excitement was shared by every man, woman and child in Popolak. What he knows is also shared by the pigeons. Maybe that's why they know that this kind of day will not hurt them, so they act so quickly.
He scanned the sky again, which was the white sky he had been staring at since dawn. The cloud cover is very low. Not suitable for celebrations. A phrase circulated in his mind. He heard an English phrase from a friend, "Let your head in the clouds". What he meant was that he gathered together, lost in an illusory white dream, lost in reverie. He thought hard that this is what the West understands about clouds, and they represent dreams. They lack a vision that makes them a reality in casual words. Here, on these secret hills, didn't they use these gossips to create a spectacular reality? Lively proverb.
Head in the clouds.
The first task force has assembled in the square. One or two people were absent due to illness, but the auxiliary was ready and waiting to be in place. So eager! When a hearing aid hears his or her name and phone number and then stands out and merges with the already formed body, the smile is so wide. There are miracles in every aspect of the organization. Everyone has work to do and places to go. No shouting or pushing: indeed, there was almost no sound above the whispers of desire. As the work of positioning, buckling and pulling the rope continued, he was amazed.
This will be a long and difficult day. Vasilav has been on the square since an hour before dawn, drinking coffee from an imported plastic cup, discussing the half-hour weather forecast from Pristina and Mitrovica, and watching the grayish morning light The night sky shone on the starless sky. Now he is drinking the sixth cup of coffee in the day, and it is not seven o'clock. Throughout the square, Messinger looked tired and anxious like Vaslav. Together they watched Metzinger and his dawn seeping from the east. But now they have separated, forgot their previous company, and didn't talk until the end of the game. After all, Metzinger is from Podujevo. He has his own city to support the upcoming battle. Tomorrow they will exchange their adventure stories, but today, they must act as if they don't know each other or even smile. Today, they must be completely partisan and only care about their city's victory over the opposition.
Now, the first stop erected, Metzinger and Vaslav were satisfied with each other. All security checks have been carefully checked, the legs left the square, and the shadows enveloped the city hall. Vaslav made himself somewhat satisfied with his sweet coffee. Such a day, such a day. Days full of glory, high flags and breathtaking towering scenery are enough to make a person unforgettable for a lifetime. That is the golden omen of heaven.
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