ROUTE 27

                                              On the incline near Marko’s windmill stood a sign, a signpost for the occasional traveler. Who put it there I do not know, but what I do know is that it sits there by itself. If it ever helped anyone or rather help them get lost even more, I don’t know either. Our little village was always hardly accessible, in the days gone the nature and little goat trails were acting as sort of a deterrent for anyone except those with the strongest will to reach us. Later on the speed of the travel itself was easily taking the traveler too far too fast, without letting him see the start of the road just around the corner. Our village starts of rather narrow and then widens out wih the slope encompassing a nice little valley with houses with set between orchards. A rather charming and unique place. It was always like that. The villagers were always quite conceited and developed some strange habbits because of that specific look of the place. They’d stop speaking when an outsiders wandered in and flash them a smile like they knew something that they didn’t. The windmill is now long gone. We were discussing, who tore it down, at the bar. The only thing that stopped an actual fight over it was the fact that the bar was closing for the night. Me and few others were standing by belief that it burned down with the great fire of 19 hundread… something… with the other group sitting around our new postman was claiming that it never actually existed. My cousin then exclaimed that he still remembers it, like hell  he does, and that this Marko guys name was just added later on. There is no more sign either, someone pulled it out of the ditch. When I take a better look the village itself is gone, new highway and fast cars cut it in half and it now lives 2 or 3 lives separate from each other. And so are we, along with it ….