When I walk early in Tasmajdan Park, I often see this woman on the same park bench. Of course she's not there in inclement weather, but when it's warmish, she is, and I go early enough to see her awaken, make her 'bed', and then do her hair. And then she speaks, sometimes softly, sometimes in a harsh voice, to her suitcase.
Of course I don't stick around to eavesdrop, but this is so sad. I wonder what her story is.
