About the book: year / Somewhere near Belgrade, maybe Subotica, Novi Sad or another previously close city, a man in a crumpled cap, a torn T-shirt, in trousers with his trouser legs cut off above the knees, wet from sweat and a scattering of water, which he used to wash down the contaminated dust of NATO missiles, he was taking out the worthless ruins of his house with a crumpled cart. He threw it into an abandoned stone quarry. He didn’t understand nuclear waste well, so he finely sprayed the sadness of the rest of his life with a hose. There is no more unnecessary labor than using muddy water to kill the potholes of the torn earth. Evil people are always hostile to those who do not intend to take revenge on them.