I dreamt that I was about to have a duel with someone from Motovun. Sitting in my study, I was writing about it just before the event. I remember musing about the distinct possibility that this was my last piece of writing ever. And then my opponent quietly appeared behind me with his gun drawn. God knows how he managed to get into the house. Aiming at my chest, he kept his mouth shut. Looking at the muzzle right in front of me, I knew that I was in real danger. “Kill me,” I growled at last, “you motherfucker!” I remember that the muzzle was pale-yellow in color rather than metallic-blue. Even in my dream I was surprised by it. I woke up staring at that muzzle, expecting to see it belching fire and smoke presently. When I was fully awake, I tried to remember who my opponent was, but I could not. In my dream I never looked at his face. Not once. All the while I was focusing on that gaping muzzle.