Monday, March 29
I took the phone and went up to the roof to watch the bombing or, better said, to watch something I did not understand. The hills were buring at a distance. I have never had the opportunity to write sentences like this. How I have the opportunity to see missiles falling from the sky, followed by explosions, flame and red skies. I don't know what kind of missiles they are and I can't identify any of the airplanes. I have never been interested in weapons. Never wrote a sentence about them, actually. But now I watch and I see, and I can write, even though I still don't feel any kind of meaning in the description of it all. I took the phone because everything seemed meaningless except the need to remain in contact with people. It rang, up there on the roof. First I talked to Sale, a friend who at that moment was on the very opposite side of the city. I described to him exactly what I was seeing from the roof. A little later, a friend called from New York. She was worried; she asked whether I had enough water and food; she asked about my parents and Anja and Vuk, my niece and nephew. And she asked me why I was on the roof. She also worried about the fact that perhaps I was not fully aware of the entire situation. I'm probably not. The phone rang again, and it was IRENE. She was calling from Buenos Aires and she made me very happy, even in this situation, because she is a wonderful lady, an Argentinian, who also worried and who just wanted to tell me that she would call me and to take care. She told me when it was all over I could go to Argentina. Because of some books I have read, I have always wanted to see Buenos Aires and Patagonia. Despite the bombs, I felt a little better, because good people are always to be found. Then my friend called from Zvezdara and shouted into the receiver, "Hey, Bill! Tomahawk calling!"

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