When I step out of my front door, I see Ana Krnjus walking up Borgo. “An evening walk,” I greet her. “It sure is,” she chuckles. “I just had my dinner, and it is time to shake it down.” Having stopped by my side, she shakes herself to demonstrate what she has in mind. “An excellent reason for an evening walk,” I laugh. “When I was younger,” she adds nonchalantly, “it used to go down all by itself.” Her demonstration was nothing if not graphic. I can still see Ana’s dinner shaking down her guts, morsel by lumpy morsel.