Thus a large sign on the chest of a leather jacket I just saw in the middle of Zagreb. “Hey,” I almost shouted, “that’s my age!” But I kept mum, for the guy wearing the jacket was in his late forties or early fifties. The sign had nothing to do with age, that is. In addition, I would need another “I” at the end of the numeral in a bit more than a month. But I am delighted by Roman numerals on garments of all sorts, which seem to be in vogue nowadays. Anyway, it did not take me long to remember my Residua. Am I likely to see Vol. LXVII of my magnum opus? That would be in twenty-eight years, when I would be ninety-five years old. God only knows, but I will surely remember the jacket I spotted today if I ever reach that age. The Roman numerals struck me as just right.