I remember a fellow student of architecture, who used to spend a lot of time in the same studio where I was working. I could not say that we were friends, for he seemed incapable of real friendship, and yet I loved him very much and was very fond of his company. He was always out of money, and I often took him out for a beer to a pub that was conveniently located across the street from our Department. Wonderful stories just came out of him. Because his parents lived in a small village quite far from Belgrade, he rented a room in a basement apartment somewhere in the suburbs. His landlady, an old and crotchety woman, who was the heroine of some of his stories, told him one August evening that she had just had a most frightening experience. As it was extremely hot late in the afternoon, she lay on her bed naked and immobile. That way the heat felt less unbearable. Suddenly she saw a young man with a beard crawl through the open window and into her room. He did not see her in the twilight, and he presently started rummaging though the things piled up on the dresser, the wardrobe, and chairs. When he eventually spotted the petrified woman, he approached the bed freely and deliberately. Displaying no sign of any emotions, he said: “Do you have a pair of scissors, grandma?” She just stared at him. When she finally managed to either say or show that she did not, he nodded, went to the window, and crawled out of the room. And that was all. My friend, if I may use this word, had nothing else to say about the incident. That was all his landlady had told him herself.