In Serbia, a common sight on the road from the border to Belgrade is a tiny little car filled to bursting with big men. Big, mustachioed men. You can almost see that drop of sweat glisten under the nose of a guy like that, vacillating before taking the leap down a long, dark follicle. They look like people who only fuck doggy style and say vaguely unpleasant, or at the very least, amazingly corny things while they do it. Of course, the object of their attentions is not permitted the release of laughter.

Those little forks you use for eating cake are smaller than the regular ones. Hell, they’re smaller than salad forks, even. They’re tiny. Tiny. Café tables are frequently tiny, too. And flimsy. When you put three really huge bald men, huge in a “these muscles are tools, not for show”-kind of way, at one of these tables, it brings to mind Serbian highways.

And the forks look like little toys, as the two of the three men carefully shovel their gleaming strawberry confections into their mouths.

Audio

Arttu Tolonen: A Tiny, Tiny Fork (3.5MB mp3)