On the 3rd, the next day, I walked down Vitosha Boulevard in Sofia and passed a doorway with blood spattered in front of it, just like the reports of mafia shootings, though of course, it might not have been.  There were a couple of police in attendance, no panic, seemed pretty routine.  Lots of big drips of blood.  Straight after my post the day before, on the popular boulevard I was walking down, though I didn’t think it was in any way linked with me.  I hope not.  If other people are going to be hurt because of what I write . . . I hope that wouldn’t happen.  I can’t get my head around the possibility that I might be that significant.

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