I remember my summer in Dubrovnik. The sound of waves hitting the beach from the salty Mediterranean outside my apartment. Lounging at a cafe in the old city, the aroma of spicy lamb and calamari all around me. Now I’m slumped at a trendy coffee chain, sipping on burnt coffee. I trod past the faceless horde after work. I’ve traveled from east to west, I see the same stores, except surrounded by palm trees. Now, I have a house by the river, but wouldn’t dare go in without a boat. The desolation of the city suffocates me. Suddenly, I remember teasing my bitter grandfather as a child. It just occurred to me: when did I get so old?