When the bus departs from Livade, one of the drivers walks down the aisle toward my seat in the back. He looks at me and raises his eyebrows without a word. “One way to Zagreb,” I say as I hand him the money, “and twenty percent off.” This is the discount for all those who are sixty years old or older. “I can prove it, too,” I chuckle as I reach for the identity card in my pocket. “No need,” smiles the driver as he gives me the ticket. “What a pity,” I chuckle again, and he joins me as he hands me the change. Some years back, my identity card was needed every once in a while. But this has stopped happening as of late.