" The people were poor, they smelled bad and talked incessantly, nobody seemed to have a job or anything in particular to do, everybody had yellow teeth and damp stains beneath their armpits, and as I looked out across the meadows where my father had walked and the houses in which his family lived I wasn’t remotely surprised that he’d wanted to leave, because there was no room to breathe out here, there was no escape. "
― Pajtim Statovci , Crossing