We are walking home after dinner. As we turn the corner of our street, we see three guys standing a few paces ahead of us. They are blocking our way across the pavement. Their feet spread wide apart, they are expressionless. A bit confused, I focus on the face of the guy in the middle. He is the tallest of the three. Hey, it is Filip Vrtarić! To the left of him I recognize his younger brother, Jakov. I look to the right, and I recognize Danijel Handjal. The Motovun boys! And in the very center of Zagreb! I rush to them and start kissing them with all my might. “You fuckers,” I exclaim as I hug one after another. They must have spotted us coming their way before they took their awesome positions. “You fuckers,” I keep grumbling as I kiss them all with gusto. My Motovun boys. Only this morning I wrote about the hilltown as though it was dead. By the evening, the disclaimer was waiting just behind the corner.