Podgorica - Umrlice

She turned the book so Luka could read the final entry. It was written in elegant, angry cursive:

Inside, the keeper, an old woman named Mira, poured hot rakija into two chipped glasses. Her guest was a young journalist from Belgrade, who had heard a rumor and come chasing ghosts. umrlice podgorica

Luka raised his glass. “To the ones who haven’t died yet.” She turned the book so Luka could read the final entry

“Podgorica,” Mira said, pouring another rakija, “is a city of the living dead. Not the kind from stories. The kind who forgot to bury their past. I just write it down for them. So they know what’s already gone.” angry cursive: Inside