hubris

Sometimes, if you have walked around for several hours in the pounding sun and have at last taken a seat in a comfy chair at an outdoor cafe, when your drink arrives you think: Yes! I have found the perfect spot and ordered the perfect drink, an ice coffee with whipped cream and sprinkles and a cookie and a tiny gold tassel.

And then, overcome with your own triumph, you knock back the large shot glass of clear liquid that accompanied your drink, and you realize, all in that instant, that Belgrade cafes are not like Budapest cafes, which always provide a small ration of water with coffee, but instead are like Belgian cafes, which always provide a small ration of liquid sugar.