I am halfway through the local newspapers when some friends join me at Klaudio’s. They have a house in Motovun, but they live abroad. Without a word, I show them pictures of two motorcycles lying next to two cadavers on Istrian roads. “Boys,” I start. They have two boys, too. “They’re dying like flies,” I continue. Pictures such as these do appear daily in the newspapers. “It seems to me,” I venture forth, “this is akin to a collective suicide.” My friends stare at me in silence. “They know perfectly well how deadly these toys actually are,” I explain, “but they still risk their lives as though there is no tomorrow.” My friends nod in unison. “In fact,” I drive my point home, “it seems to me the boys somehow know there indeed is no tomorrow!” To my surprise, my friends nod again. Although they say nothing, they appear to have thought about all this, too.