One of the lads here at Authentic, a waiter, has a gal approach calling out to him from 5-6m distance. Kolega! Što te nema kod nas? She was in her own labelled work clobber, a food place or similar around the corner. At the entry here the lads sit on high barstools awaiting orders from the tables. Anticipating the handshake in passing, the lad grips the bars at the bottom of the stool in order to hoist himself up a little from his seat for the courtesy. On the gal goes in her garish purple polo, bun tight behind on her head, toward her own post in the mall, everything a trifle easier after such camaraderie and respect. Tomorrow marked four weeks in the town with second cousins who had not been seen in forty-four years. Kraljevo, Serbia, where the famous Žiča Monastery, founded by St. Sava early in the thirteenth century, was a ten minute drive. Some of the old ways remained.
NB. Surprisingly, with some text Goo. Transl. actually produces half-decent rendering.

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