◉ 022 | Human or Piece of Shit?

It doesn’t matter to me

what colour your skin is.

It doesn’t matter to me

which religion you follow.

It doesn’t matter to me

who you’re attracted to.

But I do give a fuck

if you’re a čovik—human where it counts.

My neighbour.

Old lady.

Everyone called her Debela Mile.

Fat Mile.

Same skin colour.

Same town.

Same street.

Right across from us.

On paper—same tribe.

In life—

not really.

Her balcony

overlooked the street

where we played soccer.

She hated the thud of balls,

our voices, our heat.

She hated us.

She hated the world.

Especially between 2 and 5—

siesta time.

So she armed the balcony corner

with a massive lemon tree—

thorns like spears.

Every thin, cheap ball

popped on contact.

For the ones that still landed

on the balcony—

she had a ritual.

She’d pull a long chef’s knife.

Stab once—cursing at us.

Then she’d toss the deflated skin

back to us,

like a bone to a dog.

No wonder our best friend

was the TipTop kit—

glue and patches.

Some balls survived.

Some were cut too deep.

She enjoyed it—

prayed for more to land.

But whatever god she prayed to

didn’t stop us playing—

kids being kids.

At dusk,

we’d be called in.

Food on the table.

A roof overhead.

No matter our race,

gender,

god—or no god—

we all need the same:

love, food and shelter.

Still, I draw one line.

You’re either a human

or a piece of shit.

Ili si čovik

ili si govno od čovika.