It is raining and raining and raining. Motovun is stuffed full of tourists. Now that outdoor cafés and restaurants are rendered useless by the everlasting rain, they are cramming every indoor place they can find. Any nook or cranny would do, for they are desperate. By and by, they are becoming a real nuisance, too. Tourists lost in space. Having spent some time first at Marko’s and then at Benjamin’s, both of which got crowded to the brim, I headed home. Peace at last! But I do not dare open the front door of my house. Not even ajar. They are everywhere. Tourists would invade my place in a few minutes. They would take every chair they could find, and then they would plop themselves on the floor. In a short while, they would find their way upstairs. Some of them would lie down for a rest while others would take a shower. The most intrepid among them would turn on the desktop computer in my study and surf the World Wide Web with abandon. Finding the drums in the livingroom, they would start a party, which would get rowdier and rowdier as the evening approached. After a few hours, I would have to call the police. Petrified by my thoughts, I make sure not a make a sound in my own house. As I sit and stare in front of myself, the tinkle of raindrops is getting louder and louder and louder.