Seven Windows Fronting the Courtyard of Gundulić Street

Petty official’s kitchen in the square of a window: droppers and spices and the hot plate of a makeshift stove from which rises up a hulking torso, a gleaming bald spot and hands full of hunger: this is how food takes on a shape, assumes a sound detached from the taste and that nostalgia for the smeli which, settled as sediment on the table, between manuscripts, in drawers crammed with the past debauchery, dies away today at noon, sharp, while the darkness of the curtain falls down the opening and the velvety laughter of the shepherdess to find its dwelling-place in a lithographic print. This is how the reign of melancholy and hunger finally got re-established.