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I was in Sarajevo with my wife. I wanted to show her the Balkans, and Sarajevo is in many ways the pivotal Balkan city.  In a second-hand shop I bought a handful of old postcards with shirred edges. One, in sepia, showed a woman, wearing wonderful 1940’s sunglasses and a blouse with puffed white sleeves, sitting confidently astride a light motorbike. The postcard had never been sent, and there was no identification of any kind on the back. But it seemed to me to capture an important moment in a life, perhaps a moment on which a life turned. All I did was try to unravel the threads of time backwards and forwards from the photograph.  

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