Every few months I gather my change and take it to the nearest Serbian Orthodox Church. On a bench sat a beseeching drunk, his cracked hand outstretched. He smiled at me, soullessly, like a dying lame wolf. I almost handed him some coins except I didn’t and instead continued by the iron gates, and along a flagstone path to the round topped doors. I entered the church and paused and made the sign of the cross. But I had a mission and after a polite tarry on I went back out to find a cramped shop where I bought a dozen narrow tallow tapers. I paid with some of the coins.

In the candle area one by one I lit my tapers off the flames of others, once lit I stuck them in beds of pebbles to keep them righted, driving them in I murmured prayers of thanks for my beautiful life, my family, my friends and my enemies.

Leaving, I was looking for that old hobo, I still had all sorts of coins, I was considering giving them to him when I walked by a boy, dark and narrow, still and quiet; I scarcely noticed him.

Back on the boulevard, with the tram rushing at me I found the man was gone. I turned slowly and focussed on the boy. I retraced my steps towards him, I approached forthright looking him in the eye, ‘Zdravo’, I said. He mumbled and stared at the damp ground, and then I opened the coin purse and tumbled the coins out, on the low rock wall.

I watched the young boy’s squid ink eyes widen in astonishment, curiously looking at me, as if trying to understand what was I doing? And then I smiled at him, dipped my head in acknowledgement, and walked away.