The Balkan Boogie: Somewhere, Macedonia

My younger son’s prose making his daddy proud.

King of nowhere

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It was four thirty in the morning, and we were walking down the road, no telling how far we were from Skopje—or anything. I just wanted to sleep. The bus had dropped everyone off in the middle of nowhere instead of Skopje’s bus station. The driver had called his friend, a cab driver, to take us the rest of the way. It was par for the course for there to be some unexpected “tax,” some unexpected scam; it was too late for these things to be surprising.

Still, the scam pissed off Josh. We didn’t really have a choice, but somehow Josh chose anyway. He refused to be pushed into paying for a taxi, keeping his honor and money intact. But there was no telling how far we were from the city, how far away from the hostel, how far away we were from sleep. It had been a ten hour ride…

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