It’s 2 AM. I’ve had one of those evenings that are hardly good for me, but from time to time I choose to indulge in them anyway. Without any intention to go to bed I stretch myself on the sofa, reading Smrt slovenske primadone (Death of Slovenian Primadonna) and wondering about the ending of her story. The pain in my stomach reminds me it’s been more than half a day since I last had a meal.

I take my cell phone from the table. “Good evening[1. How are you supposed to greet the taxi central and the driver in the middle of the night anyway?], one taxi to ________, please.” I don’t have to think much; there is only one thing in the world that satisfies the hunger on such nights. I put on high heels, take my bag and keys and leave the house. After a few minutes the tranquil and clear night air is interrupted by strong beam of lights.

“To Miklošičeva.” Beep of taximeter. I listen to the taxi central. The driver doesn’t talk, the radio is turned off. We’re driving through empty Celovška, bright from the streetlights. Is there a city that doesn’t seem absolutely, heartachingly magic at night? Night walks are longer than day walks, but car rides pass by so quickly that the next day you find yourself thinking it was only a dream.

We turn to my favorite street. “Just a second,” I say a couple of meters before the huge green-yellow sign glowing in the dark. I’m not surprised to realize the driver knows. He stops at the exact place that is usually occupied by cars with rolled down windows blasting loud music.

There is no queue. Two sentences, one coin and five steps later I close the car door softly. As he knows I have no more errands to run, the driver wordlessly turns back to Celovška.

(Summer 2009)

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