One evening in early 1991, leaving Vienna as a college student tramping along on a Eurail Pass, I happened upon a train compartment with a single other passenger. He turned out to be a thirty-ish Yugoslavian sports agent, of all things (he was the only European I met who had heard of Bo Jackson). His English, while far better than my Serbo-Croatian, was on the shaky side, but we managed to converse over the long night
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