April 14, 1992.

I am in Yugoslavia. I don't feel like a tourist though. I am on
a bus and I ring to be let off but the busdriver can't stop
because an ambulance is following him. He drives on and on until
he reaches the city centre and asks me if I would like to drop
off here and browse. I see it looks like Austria, but I feel no
need to play tourist, window shop or whatsoever. I ask the
busdriver if the driver sits on the left side here. He says yes
and asks me if it's the same in Canada. I say no of course not
and then realize that yes, it is the same.

I finally drop off at my motelwhere a friend of mine and I have
planned a menage a trois with her husband. Her husband decides
to go hunting instead. I am just as happy.

I am in a room with a bunch of people I don't know except for my
brother Bruno. He has a pack of gum tied to his belt loop. I
rip it off and take a stick of gum but then have to pass it to
everyone to be polite. Everyone says they'll buy Bruno a new
pack. We laugh. The gum wrappers are written in Yougosalv, I
don't know what language and I tell muself I have to keep somme
to show Nicolads when I get home.

Bruno turns out to be Elvis Presley. He is still my brother. He
is singing and at one point, asks me for suggestions. I can't
think of any Elvis songs. I have a memory blank. Maybe you can
sing old Beatle songs, I say. He thinks it's a good idea.


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