When I Die, It Will Be a Small Funeral

Ko bom jaz umrl, bo en majhen pogreb

Somewhere on the edge of moor, far away from the city and the modern way of life, walking in the wheat fields, I met a group of people. They are not allowed to walk alone. Why? Bacause they are thrilled with things like Wednesday the twenty-second, cigarettes after lunch, drawing the trains or visitors, who are interested in their pictures hanged over their beds? There I read: "When I die, it will be a small funeral."
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