I occasionally spot in the center of Zagreb a man in his thirties who wears a maroon hooded fleece with a simple message printed on its back: “Nothing.” And in English. For many denizens of the Croatian capital the message must be rather opaque. To them, it spells: “Something.” I quite like the conundrum that smacks of philosophy at its hairiest. Nothing cannot be nothing pure and simple. Even nothing must be something, especially when spelled out in such a deliberate manner. Anything, as it turns out on account of English as a foreign language in these parts. Even though I would not wish to wear a hooded fleece with anything written on its back, not even “nothing,” this one comes closest to my exacting taste. Congratulations, young man! You started me thinking this murky morning among mornings.