I am walking down a quiet street in central Zagreb when I see an overdressed woman walking toward me. Bathing in bright sunlight, she seems to be on stage. In her late fifties or early sixties and rather pudgy, she wears a bright red jacket with an enormous green shawl and tight black pants the likes of which I have seen never before. Made of leather, they have large rhomboid holes down the front. The holes are accentuated by glittering bits of glass and metal. Fascinated by the ridiculous outfit, I stare at it with abandon. When I get closer to her, I realize that she is looking straight into my eyes. Her eyelids are aflutter. There is a loving smile on her heavily made-up face. Love at first sight, it seems. Startled out of my wits, I quickly look the other way as I walk past the woman. She is in love with every man in sight, it appears. Judging by her outrageous clothes, anyone would do, too. I am eager to see the reaction of the next passer-by, but I do not dare turn around to watch the show.