…right there in the police station, like an idiot.
It irritates me, aggravates me, frustrates me, disappoints me, I feel like sending it and most of its inhabitants to the Devil most of the time. I can’t even stand the name (Republic of Greece wasn’t gloriously ancient enough apparently):
But I’m a Roman, a Roman, a Roman…born one, will die one. So I’ll just have to make do with what there is for now, because even that touches me.
So there I am, being branded by the nation-state’s means of my identification, surveillance and control…and tearing up like an idiot.
Jadde: from Bosnia to Bengal 
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