It was great visiting Belgrade for a few days, but it is even greater to be on my way back to Zagreb. The trip almost over, I feel kind of relieved. At the earliest, I will undertake such a trip in about a year. Assuming that my publisher will go for another book of mine, it will be presented at the next Belgrade Book Fair. That is our present understanding, at any rate. My discomfort with travel notwithstanding, the intervening year is long enough not to make me cringe at the prospect. And the very possibility of seeing the second book under the same imprint is the welcome enticement in the intervening period. The old carrot, as it were. The stick of travel would otherwise be a bit too much for me, I guess. And thus I find myself manipulating my own self across both space and time once again. How about the third book, though? Or the fourth? At the rate of a book per trip, I cannot but smile at my cunning as the bus trundles happily along. Devilishly cunning, indeed.