My elementary school division. Well, you'd call it class, because there was about thirty of us, but officially and unoficially it's called odeljenje, i.e. a division. Ivka was our classmaster from 5th grade to the end.
We had one guy whose yard was right behind the schoolyard, and of course he had his tear in the chain link fence. The door would be about 30m from there, except that door was to the left yard, which was mostly locked, except for some classes in the open. There was a passage next to his yard, leading to the little gate, facing ruža and Lesnina, and while it was in regular use, some kid managed to run out of it straight under a car and die. It was only for staff henceforth. The rest of us had to walk around the building, to the main gate in a sidestreet.
He was, of course, often late.
When he graduated (or thereabouts, I think agriculture high), he pressed on his parents to buy him a motorbike. They weren't rich in any way, who knows how much land they still had, and that 50cc Tomos was big for them. When he smashed the bike, his father berated him severely, in who knows how harsh words and for how long. So his merry days of youth went sour in a minute. Who knows what future could he get, he was handsome, curly haired with those piercing eyes (which I noticed among practically all the descendants of Armenians here), in a year or less he could have got a job and start earning, and everything would be different. Didn't happen, he hung himself.