A woman in her sixties choses a neighboring table in one of my favorite Zagreb cafés. As soon as she sits down, she pulls a large notebook out of her purse. Her hair tied into a bun, she is dressed in black, but she wears pink shoes. They look like Dr. Martens to me. Wearing reading glasses, she keeps writing for a long while. She pays no attention to anyone around her. Puzzled by what I see, I give the woman a closer look. Could she be a teacher? And then I spot her golden wedding ring. “A primitive,” I conclude and return to my laptop. Having finished her coffee, the women stuffs the notebook into her purse, gets up from her table, puts on a black jacket, and heads for the door.