As I am walking past a packed café in the center of Zagreb, I hear a man suddenly raise his voice: “At his age!” When I turn in the direction of the voice, I see three men in their late sixties nodding with indignation. It is clear they are talking about someone they know very well, quite possibly since childhood. Chances are he often sits with them in the very same café, if not at the same table. And it is also clear they are jealous as hell. At their age, nothing but an affair out of season would make them as indignant.