Seven Windows Fronting the Courtyard of Gundulić Street

And when I, unbearably boring and thoroughly edgy, joined the promenade of gun-powder recollections, shutters drooped. There is only rotten, crumbly wood shielding the view, secrets in the crevices, the outline of an oleander, the reek of train station from which endless threads of voyage creep into the arctic cold night. Good night.