On my way down Borgo, I meet Mate Šebelić, who is walking in the opposite direction. Ten years my senior, he picks each step with utmost care. “Lotto,” I read aloud the sign on the chest of his T-shirt as I shake his hand. As it turns out, he is a great fan of lottery. “Half a million kuna would suit me just fine,” he chuckles and reaches for his lower back, which seems to be in constant pain. “There was a garbage man in Motovun who got a fortune on lottery years ago and spent it all in a year or at most two,” he tells me. We laugh. “But I would be quite careful with my fortune,” he frowns and shows with his hand that he would divide it in many lots. “Hey,” I chuckle, “it would be best to spend it all in a jiffy, just like that garbage man!” He cocks his head, ponders the idea for a few seconds, and then nods in agreement. “Yup!” he chuckles at last as we wave each other goodbye. At seventy-eight and an aching back, options are few even for a lottery enthusiast like Mate.