I dreamt that I was privy to Miro Kopčalić’s exchange of mysterious messages with some woman, whom I did not know. Actually, it was only one small piece of folded paper that was going back and forth between them. It was an abstract painting of sorts, which got ever more complicated through the exchange. Each of them would add a little something every time around. The colors were quite wonderful, and they reminded me of Paul Klee. Now and then Miro would ask me for some help with the interpretation of the message, but I would always assume it was of amorous character. I remember bursting into laughter the last time he showed me the newest additions to the painted message, which got pretty involved by then. “How do I make her understand,” Miro was thinking aloud, “that her price for the properties shown here is at least three times higher than I would be willing to pay for them?” That was Miro through and through. I woke up laughing, too.