I am the acid, the glass, the juice, the frost. I am the sirocco wind that makes red sand fly; the youth of Berlin, the chaos of Cairo, the sun of Salento, the olive trees of Palestine, the air of Holland when the weather is hot. I am the waltz. I am the klezmer. I am a drum beating, a drunkard fighting. I am a kiss on the lips. I am "the last cigarette".

I am a whispering voice. I am the voice that makes you turn around. I am  the keys that fall out of the bag. I am a familiar smell, a familiar face. I am the hell you have chosen. I am  a thousand good reasons.

I am Rakija, I am now.