Thirty intrepid souls have set out from the western end of Ilica. He gets as far as Britanski Trg before succumbing. None of the others make it that far. They lie defeated in doorways and alleys along one of the most expensive streets in the world.
Knowing I will not understand what she says and feeling I have no choice but to trust her, I hold out my two hands piled with bills and coins and invite her to take whatever it is I owe.
A nicely dressed man approaches me with a dubious tale of financial misfortune. It dawns on me that the only reason I give him twenty dollars is because he looks like he doesn’t need it.