I dreamt that a man was throwing something large and heavy at my head. I was either against the wall or on the ground. The thing coming toward me was about to crush my head and kill me on the spot. Thus I let out a loud scream. It was not for fear of death but for its immediate certainty. The scream woke me up. It woke up my beloved, too. “Where are we?” I muttered. “Where are we?” She told me we were in Zagreb. I do not remember very much of my dream, but the incident took place in Motovun. This is where the man attacking me was also from. Most important, it had to do with my struggle against crooked golf. I was to be killed for my opposition to the real estate development under the hilltown. Too much was involved for anyone to fool around with it. I fell asleep soon afterwards, but I remembered my scream as soon as I woke up in the morning. And I woke up with a heavy heart. My beloved could not sleep much after I woke her up in the middle of the night. The scream was harrowing, she told me. Absolutely harrowing. Alas, crooked golf is still with me after so many years.