On my way to the post office, I saw Miro Kopčalić’s car parked next to Klaudio’s café on the lower square. It must have been at least three weeks since his last visit. When I found him at the bar a few minutes later, we had a good, long hug. “What’s up?” he looked into my eyes a short while later. “Well,” I admitted with some hesitation, “I just finished reading a book about the economics of contemporary art.” “Oh,” he waved his hand with utter contempt, “a book about a bunch of rich assholes making each other green with envy!” I was stunned, of course. As a hard-nosed builder, Miro has never even heard of Veblen, let alone read any of his writings about the economics of art.