Wherever I go on my daily round of central Zagreb, I am surrounded by people I know well. Actually, I do not know them at all. I only recognize them. Still, I know their faces, voices, grimaces. Their laughter. As well as the things they wear. Often enough I know what they do. And talk about. Or even think about on occasion. But I do my best not to know them. Not to know them any better, that is. I make sure not to greet them lest we become acquainted well enough for us to become closer, and perhaps also chummy. God forbid. I already know them well enough to be sure that this is where my knowledge of them must stop. Stop dead, too. As I said, I am surrounded by people I know well. All too well. So well, as a matter of fact, that I live in perpetual dread of them on my daily round. If I knew them only a little better, Zagreb would become but another Motovun. The horror.