This is my primary school, the place of my first meeting with a burden of responsibilities and joys of friendship. These are Bisa, Ljuba and Rosa – the people who live there now. Running away from wars, they found their place in this building together with other refugees. Over the years, while others were leaving , finding accommodation or getting apartments, they stayed here. In the meantime, the windows were taken off the school, the paint peeled off, the inventory disappeared. Ljuba started bringing things from a dump. Bisa's children were taken away to the orphanage. Grandma Rosa's room and bed disappeared under the trash. Now she sleeps on a chair. People from the election posters smile from the walls. Grandma Rosa is worried about diabetes. Ljuba is bothered by the questions about human nature and about the country which owes them help.

Nothing bothers Bisa. Sometimes, in Bisa stories, her children are still small, yet sometimes they are all grown up and live in a metropolis. They are doing well. In this place, it easy to confuse fiction with reality. They have a dog. He is small with tears in his eyes and he limps on one leg, but his barking echoes frighteningly through the halls of the school. That is his job. They also have a cat, but she isn't sociable except when she lurks behind the window. It is good here in the summer except for the junk and the children who throw stones through the windows. They say it's very cold in the winter but maybe they will not spend this winter here. Some newspapers have already reported about them. Someone will remember to give them other accommodation. They believe in that. — Aleksandra Leković