Eric took the leather between his fingers. It felt thick, like elephant hide. He tried it on. Encased in the sturdy, supple jacket, he felt protected. He bought it, along with a few suit jackets, in an effort to“refine” his image after noticing that most people in Belgrade, unlike him, didn’t slouch around in tennis shoes and T-shirts. However, the leather jacket, which he wore like a talisman, only served to heighten his already conspicuous appearance and attract the bemused attention of his colleagues. He bumped along the pitted road, sandwiched between ruined buildings perforated by thousands of bullets, ripped by shells. Empty window frames jutted at strange angles, an occasional curl of smoke the only movement inside, an occasional red glow of fire the only color. Gray, broken trees leaned over the road, branches splayed at odd angles, their few dead leaves unsettled by the breeze. Dog and pig carcasses littered the ground next to cars flattened by tanks. The doctor peels off his gloves, pulls off his gown, and doffs his blue cap. He walks out of the operating room and down the dark hallway, pushes open a wooden door, enters a vestibule, and exits the hospital through its back door. He walks down its steep driveway and turns left onto the main street. “What happened?”