alas, some folks do not let me trust them, and then some ...

as of late, i suspect there was a public call echoing - do him in, that is why ...

I can confirm that over time spent in Serbia I earned a complete loss of respect. I often overhear: I cannot stand this guy – the words that must have been embedded in the serbian consciousness by the infamous serbian secret agencies [or their almighty retiree chapters], those monstrous services [that were never dismantled after the Cold War was over] that are still sowing the seeds of division, destruction, and extreme hatred inherent from the communist times. to describe, one overwhelming emotion I had while I lived in the United States was hope while here in Serbia that overcoming emotion is fear. Fear of what I can and do come across. my countrymen appear as if notions tangible to the rules of conduct are way too abstract for them – which makes them too dangerous to be around. that is what is bothering. they are entering your privacy [on personal level] and trying to judge and punish you based on rumors they hear.

their acts have been preventing me from starting a new life here. on infamy meter, i do not think there is one local person who would not recognize me in public, i am talking millions of people. sometimes i reckon some of them would even kill me if they had the right chance like with what happened in the ER unit recently when the medical staff [government agents ?] fried me up with the CT scanner machine. today, June 14^th 2021, I entered rankovic bakery on maksima gorkog street [nearby kalenic farmers market] and ordered 200 grams of bourek and half a liter of yoghurt. cashier was unable to serve me because her slitting fork was missing, she yelled: Sale, did you get my fork? Sale, the cook, came in with a fork, they did not even wipe it off, and I thought to myself why did he take it in the first place, it was unusual and suspicious. was it because of me? the thought that he had dipped this tool into something that would make my stomach hurt later crossed my mind. what continued my suspicions was Sale’s smile, rather my inability to classify it. I still do not have a clue what he needed a fork for as much as I am clueless how to ballpark his smile after I ate the meal … in other words I am not sure if Sale’s smile was happy - greeting me as a customer or if it was the smile of Col. Muammar Gaddafi’s rebelling opposition and captors when they were about to execute their honcho in agonizing pain [to make a vivid comparison.] I do feel like something quite worrisome is going on in my upper stomach – like a newly opened soar – so I decided to write this up, just to be on the safe side, if the things go down south quickly …