The New Year Birthing Bridge at Skopje


I am visiting a friend, and while walking his dog, we visit the bridge at Skopje.

We have to queue.

A middle class woman pushes in front of me. Once inside, I am given moss coloured over-trousers to wear. These will stop the tunnel discolouring my clothes.

I lie down, and an official injects me. To pass through this tunnel you must be asleep, as it’s very narrow, and a conveyor belt takes you through. I lose consciousness.

On the other side, I wake up.

Chinese ads for windsurfing are everywhere.

I look at how tiny the tunnel is, amazed we fit through it. I wonder why it’s called a bridge. My friend calls over to me. I wave back, gagging on the aftertaste of the anaesthetic.

πŸ’‰πŸ’‰πŸ’‰πŸ’‰πŸ’‰πŸ’‰πŸ’‰πŸ’‰πŸ’‰πŸ’‰πŸ’‰πŸ’‰

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